THE BLUE SWORD
The Naval War College
and the
American Mission, 1919-1941
THE BLUE SWORD
THE NAVAL WAR COLLEGE
AND THE AMERICAN MISSION, 1919-1941
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U.S. NAVAL WAR COLLEGE HISTORICAL MONOGRAPH SERIES
No. 4
CDR W.R. Pettyjohn, USN, Editor
The Naval Historical Monograph Series was established in 1975. It consists of book-length studies relating to the history of naval warfare that are based, wholly or in part, on the holdings of the Naval War College Naval Historical Collection.
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No. 1 John D. Hayes and John B. Hattendorf, The Writings of Stephen B. Luce (1975). Stock No. 008-047-00202-5. Price $2.80 softbound.
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U.S. Naval War College, Newport, R.I. 02840 First Edition
THE BLUE SWORD
THE NAVAL WAR COLLEGE
AND THE
AMERICAN MISSION
1919-1941
BY
MICHAEL VLAHOS
But when he has driven
The war and the shouting from the ships,
Then let him return
At the swift ships
Unscathed,
With all his arms and his comrades
That have seen close combat.
XVI, 246-248
NAVAL WAR COLLEGE PRESS
NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND
1980
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Vlahos, Michael, 1951- The blue sword.
(Historical monograph series/U.S. Naval War College; no. 4)
Bibliography: p.
Includes index.
1. Naval War College (U.S.) — History — 20th century. 2. United States. Navy — History — 20th century. 3. Naval art and science — History — 20th century. 4. United States — History, Naval — 20th century. I. Title. II. Series: Historical monograph series (Naval War College (U.S.)).
V420.V55 359\07'1173 81-9654
AACR2
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS i
FOREWORD iii
PART I: ETHOS 1
Chapter I: The Nature of Ethos 3
Ethos and World View 3
Culture and Personality 5
The Corporation of Ethos 6
Chapter II: The National Ethos 8
Images of America 8
American Personality: The Mask of Ethos 12
Chapter III: The Corporate Ethos 15
Rites of Passage: "Shipmates Forever" 15
The Call of the Sea: From Constellation
to Monongahela 19
"Sons of Gunboats" 21
A Band of Brothers 25
Chapter IV: Mission and Ethos 29
Defender of the Faith 30
The Legacy of Darwin 37
Law and Warfare 42
The World Island 47
PART II: MISSION 55
Chapter V: The Evolution of Mission 57
Chapter VI: The Course 63
The Lectures 67
The Bibliography 71
The Theses 75
The Doctrine 85
The Fraternity 91
TABLE OF CONTENTS
(continued)
PAGE
PART III: THE ENEMY 97
Chapter VII: The Callimorphosis of the Enemy: RED 99
Chapter VIII: The Cacomorphosis of the Enemy:
ORANGE 113
Chapter IX: Behind the Mask 122
PART IV: THE GAME 131
Chapter X: The Game as Ritual: Expede Herculem ... 133
Chapter XI: The Game as Oracle: The Campaign 143
Chapter XII: The Game as Oracle: The Battle 147
Chapter XIII: The Game as Oracle: The Weapon 152
AFTERWORD 157
APPENDIX I: The Colors of the Rainbow 163
APPENDIX II: Abbreviated Titles 164
APPENDIX III: War Games Conducted at the Naval
War College, 1919-1941 166
NOTES 179
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 196
INDEX 212
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This essay could not have been conceived, much less realized, without the full support of colleagues, teachers, and friends . . . and those "keepers of the flame," the archivists:
To Ruth Nicholson, C.F.W. Coker, and Charles Kelly, of the Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, for their patience in handling my cartloads of inquiry;
To Anthony Nicolosi and Evelyn Cherpak, who not only gave me the run of the Naval War College Naval Historical Collection, but who listened, encouraging me to develop early "discoveries" into a complete work;
To Captain Hugh Nott, Director of the Center for Advanced Research, Naval War College, who gave me the official support that made my work possible, and the personal support that gave it strength;
To Commander W.R. Pettyjohn, who had enough faith to give me the "push" I needed to get started; and who, as editor, gave a rough stone some polish;
To John Bird, who found the time;
To Professor Alan K. Henrikson, who acted as my Virgil in this journey;
And to my mother and father, who gave all.
Ill
FOREWORD
HISTORY is action recalled. Visible realities have their memorial: the physical energies of an age are preserved in the collective record of activity. How different the spirit of an age! Behind the mask of ritual play, beyond the actors' fading memory of a finished script, we remember the speeches and the motion and the changes of set and scene. The theme, pervading all, embracing all, can be but sensed. Spirit is an intractable stage for history: a ghostly scaffold.
What follows is an unfinished canvas of the spirit of an age, a picture of a part of a world. This is not history in the manner of narrative, nor a history of manners. This essay is simply a portrait of a fraternal institution: of several generations of membership as they passed the span of two decades. There is, within, no straight transcription of administration, of bureau- cratic bickering, of battles lost and won. Ahead is a glimpse of a society's collective sense of self .... The nature of their reality: their world view .... The subtext of their behavior: their ethos.
This fraternal society is the officer corps of the U.S. Navy. This essay records their thought between the wars, from 1919 to 1941. If there is a story here, it is of the Navy's intellectual cloister: the Naval War College, "the home of thought." This is the story of the creation of an ethos.
As a warrior society in a quiescent era, among a martial people who enshrined an unmilitary republic, the Navy lived on the periphery of national life. Guarding the margins of American security, it played out an isolated role. Yet the American oceanic margins have always demarcated an open frontier. More than an estranging perimeter- sanitaire, they have been an expansive highway, compelling outward. As agent and as guardian of transoceanic America, the Navy evolved into a central institu- tion in national life. Sharing its identity with the outward facing of America, the Navy came to embody the imagery of an enduring motif in the American ethos.
As a culture within a culture, the Navy represented a distilled, distinct subset of the aggregate of national beliefs and values.
IV
Naval thought was but one link of institutional continuity in the American ethos. On one level, integral with the larger society, the Navy reflected the immediate spirit of the age. On the subterranea of institutional role, the generational lineage of the corporate ethos preserved a stronger spirit through time.
Through the lean years, the "locust years" between the wars, the Navy kept strong its vision of self, and of mission. From generation to generation, the Service passed down both vision and mission — of Navy and of nation. The expansive, outward- gazing symbols of a prewar era of "imperialism" were transformed into a continuing awareness of, and readiness for, the fulfillment of mission. From 1919 to 1941, the Navy, indoctrinated at Newport, formed the institutional patterns of kinship between two paradigms: what Frederick Merk called "Manifest Destiny and Mission."
If, in our history, there have been links between the pendulum swings of policy and of public mood — from expansive to contractive generations — then these were forged into the institutional cable that anchors society. From the "insular imperialism" of the 1890s to the "global mission" of the 1950s, the Navy, from its granite-girded Atlantic monastery — the Naval War College — evolved such a connecting cable. From part to whole: the corporate spirit of the Navy reflected and advanced the spirit, not simply of an interwar era, but of an age.
The patterns of this essay unravel from the large to the small; from catechism to ritual, ideology to action, idea to instru- mentality.
The processes of cultural distillation, from the existential postulates to the articulated behaviors of this society — the naval fraternity — is replicated by the vertabral framework of this work.
ETHOS describes the perimeter of their reality, and the locus of its survey: Who are we, Where do we come from?
MISSION demarcates the expectational, and the ex- pected; the vision of, and the behavioral response to, the future: Where are we going?
THE ENEMY is the cast inversion of the values and the belief system of their society: the evil mask, the symbiosis supporting — and defining — Mission.
THE GAME is the ritual instrument of preparation: setting Future's stage, and learning the actors' parts in Future's play. The Game is the rehearsal of Mission.
PARTI
ETHOS
In Modern Greek H#oa implies character, disposition, temper, and appearance. Its plural form, Hfior], suggests customs and habits.1 Today, in strict usage, ethos is inseparable from the anthropological concept of culture. Usage has linked ethos to the aggregate of normative values and behavior for all of society. Whether or not the concept of ethos can usefully describe groups and corporations within a society is important. Are corporate variations of ethos strong enough to justify the concept of a distinct Corporate Ethos?
A society is the sum of its groups and its institutions. Groups both reflect and shape the ethos of a society. Some corporate groups occupy barometric positions at the center; these act as arbiters of the normative. Others watch from the margins, and seek only self-preservation. If, in the most salient of these bodies, a distinct Corporate Ethos can be isolated, then, in the examination of a single group, the passage of an entire society may be illuminated.
Thus in the search for a Navy Ethos the nature of ethos, both national and corporate, must be explored.
CHAPTER I THE NATURE OF ETHOS
Ethos and World View
We make our world: we define "reality" through our sense of self. "Man constantly imposes on this environment his own constructions and meaning."1 This is "the structure of things as man is aware of them,"2 the "cognitive view of life,"3 Weltanschauung, world view. Every culture possesses a set of constructions and meanings that is distinct and variant.
In the process of defining the set of conceptual components that defines world view, every culture "makes its own assumptions about the ends and purposes of human existence."4 These assumptions are the "basic postulates" of culture. In that these deep-running assumptions delineate the very nature of things — of man, and of existence — they are called "existential postulates."5
In turn, they are the foundation for the superstructure of a society's world view: the framework of formal beliefs and commonly held values that shape identity. Within the literature of a society, such is the essence of cultural "personality."
The nature of culture, however, cannot stop simply with the creation of a formal, idealized belief system. Throughout the graduated continuum of world view, from existential postulates to the most complex symbology of creed, values are abstracted that direct the behavior of a society. In corollary to the set of existential postulates underlying world view is an equally basic set of "normative postulates," the aggregation of assumptions that "specify whether behavior is good or bad, proper or improper."6 Custom and taboo, the "informal patterns of culture," are shaped by these normative postulates. If existential postulates are the bedrock of world view, then normative postulates are the bedrock of ethos.
Culture has been described simply as "an integrated system of learned behavior."7 On this basis, culture creates both horizontal
and vertical integration. Just as the belief system of world view rises along a graduated continuum from basic to complex beliefs, each level of abstracted value has its corollary in the behavioral system, or ethos, of a society. Beliefs inspire and direct behaviors. At the most basic level, existential postulates have their normative corollaries. As the symbology of the belief system evolves along a continuum of value, the abstraction of value becomes more complex. Essential notions of the nature of things are distilled into implicit creeds: the very essence of what a society determines is good and right. As the set of beliefs is progressively distilled to the essence of a society's world view, these beliefs become both more complex and more valued. As they are abstracted to the very highest level of symbolism to which a society is capable, this narrowing set of beliefs can be said to form the implicit creed of a culture.8
This is the vision that a society holds of itself: a vision that not only creates an ultimate sense of identity, but a vision that shapes a society's collective purpose, or mission, within its own world. Mission is the most highly abstracted behavioral directive guiding a society. A graduated continuum of behaviors mirrors a culture's scale of abstracted beliefs. At bottom is the set of normative corollaries defining the informal patterns of custom and taboo. The scale of behaviors progresses through a series of "moral imperatives" that guide individual action at increasingly complex levels of societal organization.
At the apex of a complex structure of cultural behavior patterns, statutory and implicit, formal and customary, is a society's collective sense of mission. Mission is the cultural mechanism for translating vision into a correct and positive pattern of action. Mission is the mobilizing agent of a society. In complex societies it is the spur to that series of actions that has created what we call "civilization." In such complex societies, beliefs are abstracted to the level at which they mark the conscious, symbolic passage of a whole people. The form that this passage will take, and the manner in which it is chronicled and remembered, defines the highest abstraction of behavior: mission.
In a complex society, vision is the ultimate shared statement of world view. Mission is the ultimate abstraction of collective behavior in pursuit of vision. The more complex a society, the greater is the variation of perceived vision, and the more variable the accepted parameters of behavior, both individual and institutional in the performance of mission.
Culture and Personality
Cultural "personality" exists on several levels of societal aggregation. Personality is the translation of ethos into concrete action: the performance according to the behavioral rules and imperatives of ethos. From the Latin, persona, it is truly the player's mask, and we all play our parts according to an embracing script.9
Or scripts. At the nuclear level, each man and woman accepts and reflects the basic existential and normative postulates underlying a culture. More complex sets of beliefs, and their behavioral corollaries, are the product of higher levels of aggregation within a society. The more complex the belief system of an institution, the denser is the single societal actor's personality. At higher levels of intellectual superstructure, individual personality continues to reflect group personality. Coexistent group membership, furthermore, multiplies the number of societal scripts a single actor must assimilate.
Membership at the most basic level of social organization can define only basic personality. The highest level of membership to which one aspires marks the highest stage of cultural personality and, by extension, the highest point along the continuum of beliefs that define world view. The point at which individual personality comes to reflect predominantly both vision and mission is at the apogee of role-playing allowed by culture. Such achievement is marked not only by membership in, but by leadership of, the dominant institutions of society.
In the most complex societies, leadership is shared among coexistent and often conflicting institutions. Variation in perceived vision commonly results in a diffusion of mission and a struggle between dominant groups for mastery of a society. In modern Western civilization especially, military institutions are often denied a leadership role in times of peace, while expected to mobilize and inspire society in time of war. The cultural personality of military leaders inevitably reflects both the essential delicacy and the overriding, but latent, importance of their role. To a degree beyond that of collegial leaders in other, dominant, societal groups, a society's generals and admirals feel an intense, rarified sense of mission. The more peripheral the role they are forced to play in peace, the stronger must be their collective vision of the role they will play in war. War becomes a shared expectation that, inevitable or not, creates their role as a central, indispensable institution in society.
By centering institutional mission around the process of war, military groups tend to shape their perception of society's larger mission within the context of war. Their historical vision marks the progress of their society from war to war. In this sense, then, military institutions are one of the most active groups defining societal mission, delineating and extending historical traditions with exuberant imagery.
In this context, a military institution tends to keep alive an active and outward-facing vision of society, even in times when such a tradition is in eclipse. In doing so, armies and navies provide a strong sense of continuity for a specific historical mission that, in Homeric terms, may be termed "heroic." When the strategic situation demands or the public clamors, the mission, like an old ember, is still alive.
The Corporation of Ethos
Ethos symbolizes a culture's inclusive set of behavioral/ moral imperatives at every level of societal aggregation. The translation of the imagery of ethos into the action of personality must attend each manifestation of social organization as well. In concrete terms, ethos is incorporated by every group in a society. Institutional values and behavior patterns, to a degree, reflect corresponding patterns throughout the larger society.
There are central institutions in every culture that dominate the formulation and regulation of distinct aspects of a culture's ethos. The range of variation in personality between the dominant institutions of complex societies and the specific role a single institution may play in the evolution of ethos is a persuasive argument for the introduction of a concept of "corporate ethos."
In complex societies, key institutions or corporations may approach the definitional stage in the evolution of ethos. This function is most easily achieved at the most abstracted level: that of mission. In this civilization the performance of this function is called politics.
Not all political groups are formal institutions, endowed with a constitutional role, supported by the continuity of traditions, inspired by shared emblems of identity, and strengthened by ritual and very real ties of allegiance binding its membership. They are, in fact, few. The U.S. Navy is one: a formal institution whose structure and historical continuity have evolved into a true corporate ethos.
Like a culture within a culture, the Navy ethos has created a distinct set of values and behavior patterns within a complex and sophisticated world view. The Navy ethos exists at every level of social aggregation. For its leadership, especially, the Navy ethos defines a kind of cultural personality at every membership status within the Navy hierarchy. Unlike more informal corporations, the Navy is a complete "way of life." The Navy ethos reflects the national ethos at all points along the continuum of cultural values: from normative postulates to moral imperatives to a perceived sense of mission. Although reflected, the national ethos is also distilled.
The Navy ethos is. an intensification of the American ethos, the product of the special role that the Navy has played and continues to play in American life. The Navy is, to a measurable degree, a society apart: a culture within a culture. Yet it has remained a central institution in American society. As a rarified part of America, it illuminates more clearly than any other national corporation a unique set of values in the American ethos. As an intensification of the national ethos, the Navy has, in critical periods of our history, played a decisive, even dominant, role in shaping of the passage of this society. Before examining the Navy both as corporate and unique ethos, it is essential to connect institutional with national world view.
8
CHAPTER II THE NATIONAL ETHOS
Images of America
What is America?
Throughout our history, America has been defined in inseparable contradistinction. Both in isolation and in association; a part of European civilization, and yet apart. Conceived as a New World, cast in the imagery of the Old, America was first an idea for which a place was found. As J.H. Elliott has confessed, "dreams were always more important than realities in the relationship of the Old World and the New."1
As secure sanctuary and as Utopian garden, America was safe and fertile ground for the transplantation of successive liberal visions evolving within the European oikoumene, a larger, more comprehensive society. According to Vernon Louis Parrington, these "germinal contributions were the bequests successively of English Independency, of French romantic theory, of the industrial revolution and laissez faire, of 19th century science, and of Continental theories of collectivism."2 Although "native" American society evolved toward a complexity and organization rivaling the seats of European culture, American thought has never reached true autochthony. Convinced of their essential uniqueness, Americans have stood for 350 years on the cultural frontier, if not periphery, of the European world view. The United States is a "national society." "American culture" is part of a larger, ecumenical whole. America has both reflected and reshaped European vision, and in the process created a special mission, one that has had the historical effect of defining the American personality, both in isolation from, and in association with, Europe.
The symbolic agent of this definition was the concept of the "American Frontier." The notion of a frontier is inescapably geographic, rich in the social overtones of the soil: the yeoman farmer, the Utopian garden, the agrarian virtues; and rich in
tradition: Hesiod, Cato, Cicero, Virgil, Horace, and the latter-day physiocrats were all called upon to sing the praises of the new, noble society. The frontier and the agrarian myth are inseparable in American folklore.3 Even the slogans resound through our history: Manifest Destiny, Continentalism, All Mexico, 54-40 or Fight, Free Men and Free Soil. Modern American historiography, from Frederick Jackson Turner to C. Vann Woodward to Robin Winks have embraced, or wrestled with, the enduring image of the American Frontier.
It is the central symbol of the American world view; its mythology continues to shape the American ethos. The American personality has, for 200 years of nationhood, defined itself, and has been defined, in the context of the frontier metaphor.
As a geographic metaphor, the American Frontier created a severe, and as yet unrealized, harness on the evolution of this nation's perceived sense of historical mission. By focusing primarily on a continental frontier-image, America chose a landlocked vision on which to posit its world view. The American Frontier is inward-gazing. Our frontier mythology, in a long process of historical accumulation of imagery, has tended to define America and Americanism in isolated terms. The original, New World images of "sanctuary" and "garden," in their unity, forged a force of cultural fission, pulling America from its membership in the oikoumene of this civilization. As both C. Vann Woodward and Richard Hofstadter implied at the height of the cold war, only the permanent historical loss of "free security" could reverse America's societal desire to define itself apart.4
Mythology has come to define the American world view almost exclusively in terms of a continental frontier. Our cinematic obsession with the American "West" is a testament to our unquestioning acceptance of this myth.
Yet there is another frontier in the American tradition, a seaborne frontier.
There are, within our national world view, two Americas. One is inward-gazing, one outward-facing. One looked toward the wilderness of an untamed continent, one toward the wilderness spray of the world ocean. One is based on agrarian philosophy, one on mercantalist principles. One exalts the farmer, one idealizes the sailor. One is limited to a continent. One is implicitly global. The western frontier demanded an army to keep the peace and fought campaigns on the level of police
10
actions. The Atlantic and Pacific Oceans demanded a navy, prepared to meet the demands of deterrence and diplomacy.
This twin tradition is deep-rooted. As Henry Nash Smith wrote, in the year of Korea, 1950:
The early visions of an American empire embody two different if often mingled conceptions. There is, on the one hand, the notion of empire as command of the sea, and on the other hand the notion of empire as a populous future society occupying the interior of the American continent.5
The agrarian vision is unmistakably Jeffersonian, while the mercantile is just as indelibly Hamiltonian. Ironically, both visions imply a separation from Europe, and both the creation of an American Empire. Hamilton spoke of "erecting one great American system, superior to the control of all transatlantic force or influence, and able to dictate the terms of the connection between the old and the new world."6
This is a vision of equality, not disassociation. In that it implied an equality of competition with European societies, Hamilton's vision of America was one of identity with the European oikoumene , as long as such relationship was on terms of America's choosing:
Our situation invites and our interests prompt us to aim at an ascendant in the system of American affairs.7
Hamilton envisaged an American hegemony along European lines and according to European political traditions. As Felix Gilbert wrote, it was "the fitting of 'old policy' to the American scene."8
In this sense, one of shared, transatlantic ethos, Hamilton's vision was a force pulling America toward a closer ecumenical membership with the Old World, while Jefferson's Louisiana gaze and his vision of new American republics, like "eaglets" hatching beyond the Mississippi, tended to reinforce the notion of American separation and uniqueness.
Coexistent, the two Americas evolved in exclusion, divorced until the fifth decade of the 19th century. With the continental limits of the United States demarcated after the Mexican War, America stood on the shores of the Pacific. Seafaring America, by that time, was bringing the commerce of China to New
11
England and Yankee whalers hunted across the breadth of the Pacific. In 1853, the U.S. Navy opened the door to Japan. The American frontier at that moment, and just for a moment, returned to the image of the "Passage to India." American mission, in the eyes of Thomas Hart Benton, Asa Whitney, and William Gilpin, was to extend the American empire across the Pacific:
The untransacted destiny of the American people to subdue the continent — to rush over this vast field to the Pacific Ocean — to teach old nations a new civilization — to confirm the destiny of the' human race — to shed a new and resplendent glory on mankind 9
For a brief decade the two frontiers were fused. The exotic scape of the South Seas brought by Melville to a hungry public in 1846- 47 was an extension of the frontier myth of the Utopian garden. California, the newest state of the union, was tied to the Republic by clipper, almost as if it were a faraway archipelago.
This unity of vision in the American world view was shattered by the Civil War. Yet, once established, the image of a transpacific American frontier would remain as a latent component in our culture. Four times in the future, this image would come to shape America's perceived sense of mission: in 1898, in 1941, in 1950, and in 1964. As in 1853, the U.S. Navy would play an instrumental role both in the translation of vision to mission and in the performance of mission in action.
As Walt Whitman wrote, on the occasion of the arrival of the first Japanese envoys to America in 1860:
For I too raising my voice join the ranks of this pageant,
I am the chanter, I chant aloud over the pageant,
I chant the world on my Western sea,
I chant copious the islands beyond, thick as stars in the sky,
I chant the new empire grander than any before, as in a
vision it comes to me,
I chant America the mistress, I chant a greater supremacy,
My sail-ships and steam-ships threading the archipelagoes,
My stars and stripes fluttering in the wind,
Young Libertad! With the venerable Asia, the all- mother 10
12
American Personality: The Mask of Ethos
Before attempting to examine the Navy as a unique corporation — a distinct society within a national society — it is important first to describe the larger context of national "personality." If the Navy ethos created a notional Navy personality, then the Navy as a corporate identity should be viewed both as a thematic and variational component in the American personality.
The imagery that, in its complete set, comprises world view along a vertical axis defines a corollary set of behaviors on a horizontal plane. This is ethos, the set of normative values that, in its turn, is translated into actions. This, the collective set of performances of a society's actors, is the fused form of persona — the "personality" — of culture.
A culture must be defined in terms of the inclusive set of world view, ethos, and personality along both vertical and horizontal axes. By this definition, there exists no distinct American culture. There is a national society, which is but a member of a larger association called an oikoumene. America shares so many basic components of its world view with European societies that it cannot claim a legitimate, separate, cultural identity.
In spite of original and reaffirmed ties of culture, American society has preserved a self-proclaimed tradition of cultural uniqueness. To sustain this perception, American national society has created a set of cultural variations, lovingly preserved in folklore and in mythology.
The core of American folklore is rooted in the image of the Western frontier. From the moment of its political independence from Europe, American personality has been predominantly associated with an ethos that both American "natives" and European observers announced as the product of a frontier world view. The notion of a society on the very rim of civilization has created an expectation of cultural sensibilities shaped by an untutored environment. Physical roughness begets social roughness. Frances Trollope was not the first, and certainly not the last, European visitor who would write of the effect of a frontier environment on American mind and mores; in 1832:
The "simple" manner of living in Western America was more distasteful to me from its levelling effects on the manners of the people, than from the personal privations that it rendered necessary The total and universal want
13
of manners, both in males and females, is so remarkable, that I was constantly endeavoring to account for it . . . there is always something in the expression or the accent that jars
the feelings and shocks the taste In America that polish
which removes the courser and rougher parts of our nature is unknown and undreamed of.11
How ironic, that the heroic image of the American as a rough and ready, straight-shooting, cigar-chewing Leather stocking, traceable to James Fenimore Cooper's stories of the frontier, should have displaced the seafaring heroes of novels like The Pilot. For Cooper, who wrote the first real history of the U.S. Navy, America's oceanic tradition carried equal weight.
In his letters during the Mexican War Cooper revealed his recognition of the triumph of continentalist over seafaring America.12 The Civil War, and the destruction of the Yankee merchant marine, exacerbated this displacement. As America turned inward in the aftermath of war and reconstruction, Whitman's paean to Pacific destiny was discarded.
As a corporate tradition whose fortunes were bound to the other half of the American world view, the oceanic rather than the continental vision, the historical foundations of the Navy ethos tended to create the personality of a society apart. By the end of the 19th century the U.S. Navy was, in effect, a society perceptively isolated from the main currents of American society, as the American nation was, by its own admission, separate from the European social order.
In essential thesis, this notion was an illusion but it was a cherished illusion, reinforced by historical folklore. In the case of the Navy, its isolation from mainstream America from 1865 to 1895 was neither cherished nor illusory. It was a bitter fact and permeated each naval officer's sense of identity and worth in relationship to American society. As Alfred Thayer Mahan wrote of the visit of a French admiral to an American warship in the 1880s,
. . . one of these old war-horses, not yet turned out to grass or slaughter, ship-rigged to royals, and slow-steamed. His gaze was meditative, reminiscent, perhaps even sentimental. "Ou sont les neiges d'antan?" ... he saw before him an historical memento, sweeping gently, doubtless, the chords of youthful memories. "Oui, oui!" he said at last; "I'ancien systeme. Nous l'avons eu."13
14
By 1890, Oscar Wilde could write of America, "You have your manners and your Navy."14
This age marked the nadir of the oceanic vision as an essential component of the American world view. The Navy role anchored at the very margin of American national life. Yet the same year as Wilde's sneer, Mahan published The Influence of Seapower Upon History. Within 8 short years the Navy, and America's transpacific mission, would experience a remarkable renaissance. Rehabilitated, the Navy, and Oceanic America, would retain to the present era a coequal status with the Continentalist School.
Although status had been rewon, the Second America had lost the connective associations of historical mythology. Frederick Jackson Turner had already, in 1893, codified the "Myth of the American Frontier."15 The long intermythologicum had broken the spell of the American seafaring tradition, as it had flourished before 1861. America was, in future, to be defined according to a single historical image. This awareness, certainly subconscious, has had a depressive influence on the corporate ethos of the U.S. Navy in the 20th century. The eclipse of the mythology of seafaring America — as one of the central symbols of American identity — has, indirectly, shaped the corporate "personality" of the modern Navy. Now, in turning at last to face the subject of this essay — the Navy as corporation and as ethos — this crucial recognition must be remembered.
15
CHAPTER III THE CORPORATE ETHOS
This is the body of basic beliefs, translated into patterns of behavior, that define the Navy as a corporate allegiance. There are functional analogues here to any corporate structure in American society. In the classic period of this essay, the initial processes of defining role and identity and the rituals of membership were far more intense and all-encompassing in the Navy than in other secular groups in national society. At Annapolis, corporate indoctrination was extended to a definitional degree in individual personality and could be called a form of "acculturation." With its isolated environment, highly ritualized and severe rites of passage, and demanding emphasis on fellowship, the Navy created for its officer corps the foundation of a separate society: an embracing ethos.
A man's sense of membership in this society, as one of its leaders, was shaped by four kinds of experiences. These are called here "Rites of Passage," "The Call of the Sea," "Sons of Gunboats," and "A Band of Brothers." Each is native to the Navy; together they create the sum of essential ethos, upon which could later be laid the higher institutional calling of mission.
Rites of Passage: "Shipmates Forever"
The manner in which an officer was brought into the world of the U.S. Navy was, in its classic period, something like being born again, and raised anew, and acculturated to an alien society. As Albert Gleaves wrote:
Every officer of the United States Navy, whatever his own antecedents, has the best of rearing at the most receptive age and the honour of the Service to maintain. His best ancestors are the men who have come before him in that Service l
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These italicized images reveal the implicit allegiances of a man to his family or tribe.The "classic period" of America's Navy has been applied as a societal definition: that era when the Navy ethos was strongest and the process of its acculturation most intense. This period, roughly from 1885-1945, marked the closest translation of the body of Navy "traditions," or world view, into a shared sense of mission. This was the time of Annapolis and Newport; the heyday of the Academy and the War College as functional institutions in the transmission of "cultural" values.
For as a society apart, the Navy created ties of allegiance and badges of identity that bound its officers for life. Membership was awarded to a young man not merely as a diploma, signaling the end of the initial period of acculturation. The course at Annapolis was a structural, as well as symbolic, rite de passage. If the War College instilled the mature elements of the Navy ethos, the Naval Academy created the primal. An officer's sense of mission was forged at the intellectual peak of his career; his framework of meaning, his manners, his behavioral manual, his cultural compass bearing, his personality, were hammered out at the start, at Annapolis.
In this heyday time, the cultural laxity described so lovingly by Mahan had been bred out. The oldsters of 1856 were gone and the majority of midshipmen no longer tattooed right forearms with "Goddess of Liberty."2 As he lamented:
I remember, in later days and later manners, when we were all compelled to be well buttoned up to the throat, a young officer remarked to me disparagingly of another, "He's the sort of man, you know, who would wear a frock-coat unbuttoned." There's nothing like classification. My friend had achieved a feat in natural history; in ten words he had defined a species.3
"Respect for individual tastes" departed. "Hazing" arrived.
Hazing became a crucial component of the process of Navy acculturation at Annapolis after the 1860s.4 Unpleasant as it always was, it was just as inevitably remembered with proud fondness. Like "Jack Nastyface" during the Great War against Bonaparte who refused to accept a messmate as a true brother until his back bore the mark of "the cat," the American midshipman accepted hazing as the natural and sole proof of
17
admission. Membership in a selective fraternity demanded, like the sun dance of the Cheyenne, a physical rite of passage.
The test of Annapolis was severe. Julius Augustus Furer, class secretary of '01 , would write of the 30 men in his class, out of 97, who did not graduate.5 Attrition by this time was the exclusive product of academic and physical severity. Mahan's class, 1859, graduated only 20 out of 49 entrants but his perspective revealed an essential difference. "The dwindling numbers testifies rather to the imperfection of educational processes throughout the country than to the severity of the tests, which were very far below those of today."6
By the 20th century, the Annapolis experience had created its own body of folklore, enshrined in popular sentiment. The extent of its permeation was revealed in a film produced by Warner Brothers in 1935, Shipmates Forever. Although a standard "Hollywood" product, it represents an authentic source. Not merely a barometer of national attitudes toward the Navy in the midthirties, it is a remarkable paradigm of contemporary Navy values. The film presents a rare historical "window" to view the mythology of the Naval Academy and its role in the creation of the Navy ethos. Research into the papers of Dudley Knox reveals that the Navy worked closely with Warner Brothers in the production of the film.7 Bluntly put, it was a magnificent, and sentimental, piece of propaganda.
In that Shipmates Forever encapsulates all the motifs of the Annapolis mythology, the film presents a romanticized, but emotionally authentic, description of the Navy's rites of passage. Dick Powell, playing a young singer, is from an old Navy family. His father is CINCUS, and about to retire. He desperately wants his son to follow him but he will not force him. Finally, it is the commanding adjuration in the portrait of his grandfather, a commodore from the old sailing navy, that propels Powell toward Annapolis. At the Academy he does well academically but he chafes under the hazing of upperclassmen, who tease the ex-crooner mercilessly. He is forced to sing, night after night, endless stanzes of "Abdul Abulbul Amir" to his everlasting distaste. As the outsider, intellectually and temperamentally, he cuts himself off from his classmates and rejects their appeals to fellowship. He is redeemed from isolation only by risking death in attempting to save the life of a shipmate when a boiler explodes in an old battleship during a summer cruise. He falls in love with Ruby Keeler, who is implicitly devoted to the Navy even though both her father and brother had been lost at sea. In
18
the end, as commander of the Brigade of Midshipmen, he stands, a hero and brother officer, as he receives his commission in the U.S. Navy.
All of the basic, personal elements of the Navy ethos are revealed in this film. Made during the halcyon period of the Navy, before its greatest test of war, Shipmates Forever captured the feeling, the sensibility, of a distinct ethos. Albert Gleaves, also writing in the 1930s, called this the "background of the Navy." Like the movie, he described the Navy ethos in the authentic, unself-conscious language of a member when he spoke of the men
who devote their whole lives to the steady, quiet performance of duty, the rigours of discipline, the training and welfare of the men trusted to their command, the tact and good breeding that keep an efficient and happy ship and a wardroom what a gentleman's should be, and above all, to the faithful discharge of responsibility. All this on a salary of from fourteen hundred to six thousand dollars a year, and every married officer has the assurance from a grateful country of a pension to his widow of thirty dollars a month for the support of herself and any children they may have! Nothing but love of the Service and pride in it can keep a man in such a profession, and nothing but love of her husband and pride in his career can make a woman stand by him and keep him in it.8
Those qualities that so immediately describe the naval officer of that era — duty, responsibility, devotion, steadiness, rigor, faithful, good breeding, a gentleman, pride, and even love — are spontaneous and autochthonous. They were the highly valued creed of a special world view, the moral imperative of an ethos. They are, by modern standards, all the more remarkable for the conscious central role they played in the makeup of individual personality.
This unbreakable identification of "character" with the larger vision and mission of the Navy was the cultural product of post- Civil War Annapolis; of a naval academy that may have lost a traditionally relaxed and individual style of training and replaced it with a rigorous process of acculturation not unlike that found in the leadership groups of separate and distinct societies. In doing so, the Navy was able to "raise" a group of men who not only created a unified institutional notion of national mission but who had the drive to see it realized.
19 The Call of the Sea: From Constellation to Monongahela
WHEN, staunchly entering port,
After long ventures, hauling up, worn and old,
Battered by sea and wind, torn by many a fight, With the original sails all gone, replaced, or mended, I only saw, at last, the beauty of the ship.9
To see the old sailing ship, as Whitman saw her, was to sense the sublime: this understanding was the central "mystery" of man and the sea. The majesty of wind and sail, the discipline demanded of survival under canvas alone, the integration of man and ark, sea and sky, in interactive harmony and strife, was the rhythm of the seafaring frontier. Even after steam had displaced sail for a generation of navymen, they could not proudly call themselves "sailors" until they had close-reefed topsails in a winter gale.
The tradition was immutable. Midshipmen who sailed to England and Maderia in 1899 in the old Monongahela recaptured the world of their naval "ancestors." At the Academy, a midshipman was schooled in engineering, and given the modern tools of his trade. At sea, hauling on sheets and stays during his summer cruise, he was surrounded by continuity and context, and given his identity.
In this baptismal ritual, the character and past of the ship, etched in every plank, was a reminder and an adjuration. "Worn and old," the ship was a reminder of those other generations of officers who had paced her decks; "torn by many a fight," she was an adjuration to the young midshipman to duty, to fall in as they had to the guns in defense of the Constitution. The old Monongahela, last of the wooden sail training ships, had fought at Port Hudson and at Mobile Bay with Farragut and bore the battle scars of Confederate guns. The men who would make, in Julius Augustus Furer's words, "the last cruise made by midshipmen to Europe in sail,"10 would include one COMBATFOR, one COMSCOFOR, one CINCUS, the president of the Naval War College during World War II, the Commander of the 14th Naval District on 7 December, and one COMINCH for that same great war to be.
In the same manner, William Sowden Sims, in 1877, sailed as a midshipman in Constellation which, although it had been "rebuilt" in 1855, could trace its bloodline to the Quasi-war with France and that fabled fight with Llnsugente in 1798.11 Each
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naval generation was able to reforge its own, personal links with its ancestry. Sims, who would command all U.S. naval forces in Europe during the First World War, was able, however tenuously, to feel the Navy of Nelson and of Decatur; King, who
would serve as COMINCH during the Second, was able for a moment to cast back to Farragut and Porter.
How conscious was the awareness of this continuity? When Mahan attended the Academy in the late 1850s it was with wistful awareness of the passing of an age. His class, 1859, was one of the last to sail in ships without steam when such were still on cruising stations before the war; and serve under men, veterans of 1812, who still scorned "funnel and screw." His first cruise after graduation was in such a ship, the fated frigate Congress. Of her he wrote, in reverence:
The "Congress" was a magnificent ship of her period. The adjective is not too strong. Having been built about 1840, she represented the culmination of the sail era, which, judged by her, reached then the splendid maturity that in itself, to the prophetic eye, presages decay and vanishment.12
If anything, the awareness of continuity was yet stronger for an old crew than for an old ship. If there could be codified a collective memory of the Navy ethos in its most basic form — its tradition — then surely its source would be the "Old Salt," and the form of his transmission, the "spun yarn":
The gunner of the first ship in which I served after graduation told me that in 1832, when he was a young seaman before the mast on board a sloop of war in the Mediterranean . . . that she stood into the harbor of Malta under all sail, royal and studding sails, to make a flying moor. Within fifteen minutes she was all in, the ship moored, sails
furled, and yards squared Now I dare say that some of
my brother officers may cavil at this story 13
In a way the image of the "Old Timer" was, among officers in the 20th-century Navy, a sentimental market-post, both as an incarnation of ancestral tradition and as a reminder of the wonder of youth. There is a famous photograph of four of these men taken aboard Mohican in 1888. These graybeards, with pipe, seated on ditty boxes, surrounded by coiled line and taut
21
rigging, evoked a special memory in senior officers of the 1930s. Joseph Taussig, who served as Assistant Chief of Naval Operations from 1933-36, wrote about the careers of these staunch sailors for the 1937 Navy Day Annual:
The fine type of the old salt depicted here is now extinct so far as our navy is concerned. It is fitting, therefore, to make a record of some of the things that are known of these men. It is felt also that those of the old navy who were closely associated with the wonderful sailor men of those days, as well as the modern navy who never had the pleasure of such associations, will appreciate the quotations written by the officers who were shipmates of these men.14
This was more than unabashed sentiment. In the personal papers of Albert Gleaves and Montgomery Meigs Taylor, both commanders of the Asiatic Fleet in the interwar era, there are preserved copies of this same photograph, with simple comments about four old men in an old wooden ship: remembered by admirals in their sleek steel cruisers. The continuity was not simply conscious; it was enduring.15
As Furer wrote of his transatlantic cruise in Monon in 1899, "We worked the ship and had perhaps a dozen or so old salts to show us the ropes."16 There is a world of implication in that statement. As Mahan admitted of his own midshipman's experience, "for most of us the object was to acquire a seaman's knowledge, not an officer's."17 A man is a sailor before he is a naval officer; that conviction has never fully been lost. Those lucky "young gentlemen" who sailed Monon to Europe and who later led America's Navy in world war were the last "sailing officers" of their service; yet the end of a tradition only. The emotional role of the sailing ship in the Navy ethos remained as, for each new generation, "at last, the beauty of the ship."
Sons of Gunboats
"Hurrah my lads! It's a settled thing; next week we shape our course to the Marquesas!" The Marquesas! What strange visions of outlandish things does the very name spirit up! Lovely houris — cannibal banquets — groves of cocoa-nuts — coral reefs — tattooed chiefs — and bamboo temples; sunny valleys planted with breadfruit trees — carved canoes dancing on the flashing blue waters — savage woodlands
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guarded by horrible idols ... I felt an irresistible curiosity to see those islands which the olden voyagers had so glowingly described.18
So Herman Melville began Typee, which thrilled literary America in 1846. Like Whitman's Passage to India, he caught the sum of imagery by which America would come to define the exotic scape of the South Seas, and the fabled lands that lay beyond: India and Cathay. At the end of the 19th century, the Spanish-American War, the Boxer Rebellion and the Philippine Insurrection again created a sheen of romance around the experiences of American sailors in China and the islands of the Pacific.
When the big gray battleship South Dakota crossed the reef into the harbor of Papeete, Tahiti, on an autumn noon in 1919, Albert Gleaves, CINCASIATIC, spoke as Melville had in Omoo, when Julia dropped anchor there 77 years before. The descriptions are strikingly similar. In their shared imagery of the exotic, Gleaves and Melville create a continuity in the language of seafaring America. Gleaves' memory of a dance by Samoan "maidens" echoes the prose of Melville in "Preparations for a Feast," from Typee:
The dance is considered the most graceful of all the South Sea Islands, and the dress is just within the Law of Eden. A fringe of banana leaves around the waist, the naked bodies glistening with coconut oil, and a necklace of hybiscus and tiny shells compose the costume de rigeur. The girls' figures, beautifully formed, are like bronze nymphs.19
Unlike the pictures of whaling ships and China clippers, this experience was a Navy excursion, framed in the imagery of white-hulled gunboats. The scene implied more than Yankee adventure: the setting carried strong overtones of a young and vigorous republic seeking its destiny among the decaying empires of Spain and China. Within the image of the exotic lay a stronger theme.
For young naval officers, as brash ensigns or "passed midshipmen" on their first cruise, gunboat service in China or among the islands of the Philippine archipelago became the remembered core of the romance of life at sea. They were forever marked, as was Melville six decades before, by the lure of those shimmering islands. Of those who graduated from the
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Academy between 1898 and 1903, the majority saw early service in the Asiatic Fleet. In 1902, the year J.O. Richardson left Annapolis, 41 of 59 members of the class were posted to the Asiatic Station.20 Of the men who would come to dominate the Navy between 1919 and 1941, Pratt and Standley and Yarnell and Knox and Richardson, their early cruises had included a tour in the Western Pacific.
Decades later, Harry E. Yarnell recalled his own adventures in gunboat service, beginning with the origins of a certain "society":
In May, 1900, a number of officers met on the U.S.S. Alava in Manila Bay and organized a society under the somewhat grandiose title of "The Ancient and Honorable Society of the Sons of Gunboats." Admiral Dewey was elected Honorary President 21
These gunboats were Victorian relics of the Empire of Spain, patrolling the waters around such unimagined places as Zamboanga and Tawi Tawi and Sandakan. There were local insurrections to be quelled, and Moro pirates gunrunning and abducting Borneo women, and native regattas and celebrations, and wily chieftains to be bargained with or outsmarted.22
The young officers who would, late in their careers, shape America's response to the Japanese imperial challenge, were perhaps only dimly aware of an American Pacific mission when they chased bandits through shoal waters in the Sulu Sea. The formative impressions, however, that would come to shape their personal sense of mission as American naval officers, were implanted when they were but "Sons of Gunboats."
Some measure to which these young officers came to treasure the memory of those first cruises in Chinese and Philippine waters, charged with the anticipation of meeting Boxer or Moro, or the spectacle of Slav facing Samurai in sea combat, can be sensed from their replies to old shipmates.
In 1942 Martin Swanson, "Boatswain Mate, U.S.S. Yorktown, 1898-1901," wrote to Adm. Harry E. Yarnell:
So many things are happening to-day that seems to have had its beginning back in the days of the Boxer Rebellion. I remember when Mr. Arthur McArthur, Jr. went on board a Chinese cruiser to hoist the American flag in order to save it from the Japs. That happened in Chefoo, I think!23
24
To which Admiral Yarnell responded:
I was very glad to get the letter recalling the days when we were shipmates on the Yorktown in China. I think you are the first one of the Yorktown ship's company that I have seen in many years. Most of the officers who served on the Yorktown at that time are now dead.24
He went on then to talk about incidents in China during the Boxer crisis and at some length. Even more evocative was the exchange between Clifford Calfinch and Adm. Ernest J. King. Calfinch wrote, in 1941:
Wonder if you remember the good old days on the Good ship Cincinnati on the Asiatic Station, the Championship Foot ball game between the Flag Ship Wisconsin and the Cincinnati at Amoy China, when we followed the Russian Cruiser into the harbor of Manila, and the trip to Chemulpo Korea and up the Yalu River, and the many other happenings, which I like to look back to with such fond memories.25
King replied with a warmth that some would call uncharacteristic:
I now wish to thank you for good wishes — it is fine to know that an old shipmate of long ago keeps track of his old Navy
friends What memories your letter brings up about our
cruise in China in the old CINCINNATI, and the incidents of the Russo-Japanese War. Some day we must meet up and revive those old days. By the way, do you happen to have a copy of that picture of the First Division which was taken in Shanghai one Sunday morning after inspection 26
. . . The mind drifts back, so clearly, each incident of those times etched in a kind of sharp clarity, as though it had happened just yesterday. Both Yarnell and King unhesitatingly reached for the image of "shipmate," even though writing to former enlisted men. For they were just that, before the climb to higher command began to separate future admirals from the associations of their youth. Perhaps this explains why King signed his reply to Calfinch as "Sometime Ensign, U.S. Navy, U.S.S. CINCINNATI." The corporate links connecting a man to
25
his service, be they sentimental, form a subtle, and not insignificant, underpinning to ethos.
A Band of Brothers
When Adm. Albert Gleaves sat down to write about his life, he began with what he called "The Background," which was shared by every naval officer:
It has been formed by those who have kept honour clear by risking and often giving their lives for others in the sea, or in blazing turrets, or wrecked submarines, or standing by dying comrades in obscure places of the earth, whether or not any other men will ever know or "long remember" it.27
He was describing the central mystery of the corporate ethos: the basic recognition behind those rituals and badges of association that define membership in, and allegiance to, a corporate group. In a society within a society, for the U.S. Navy especially, this recognition of absolute commitment to the group inevitably created a special sense of fraternity.
For the aspiring officer, the process of initiation involved a series of intense experiences. The demanding routine of the Academy was an intellectual and corporate rite of passage. Through 1900 at least, the midshipman cruises, with wind and sail, offered not only context but continuity. "Gunboat" service on the Asiatic Station, for those who would come to command the Navy before Pearl Harbor, mixed authentic adventure with a personal translation of "mission" on the exotic frontier of civilization. These experiences, in concatenation, both defined and reinforced the basic postulates of identity. At the heart of each was the recognition of responsibility to one's shipmates.
Since Shakespeare in Henry V — "we few, we happy few" — has worked its way like a sentimental teredo into the ark of naval mythology. Before the Battle of the Nile, Horatio Nelson referred indulgently to his captains as "a band of brothers."28 This old English image, then, became the incarnation of naval esprit de corps, the vital element in battle, the key to victory at sea. In the First World War, Jellicoe's failure to recreate the Nelson "touch" haunted the Royal Navy, and to the superstitious — and what sailor is not? — became the unstated cause of failure on the North Sea. That was why Jutland, and they" would gravely shake their heads, was no Trafalgar, and not even a Glorious First of June.29
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A true fraternity of officers in the Nelsonic mold became, by the 1890s, a naval article of faith. Mahan's adjurations on the successful application of seapower in the pursuit of empire were largely responsible for the renaissance of the Navy ethos. His own double volume, The Life of Nelson, is a testament to the American notion of the naval fraternity as a unified, highly motivated, offensively minded corps of officers and men inspired by a shared vision and mission: specifically after the fashion of Nelson, and the British tradition.30
The permeation of the notion of a naval fraternity can be marked by several indicators. One is by the names shipmates give each other. Mahan, in his reminiscences, speaks of "nautical characters" he knew in the same breath as figures from the sea stories of Marryat and Cooper: "Boatswain Chucks," "Gunner Tallboys," "Jack Easy," "Boltrope," and "Trysail."31 Nautical literature both mirrored and reevoked for Mahan one of the enduring traditions of the sea.
This was a tradition renewed by young American naval officers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The men who held command in the U.S. Fleet between the wars called themselves by names hearkening to the world of Cooper and Melville and Dana. Rear Adm. Burrell C. Allen was "Buck," Rear Adm. Percy W. Foote was known as "Commodore," Rear Adm. Arthur S. Carpenter was "Chips," Adm. C.C. Bloch was "Judge," Adm. C.P. Snyder was "Peck,*' Adm. Harold R. Stark was "Betty," Adm. E.C. Kalbfus was "Ned," Adm. Thomas C. Hart was "Dad," Rear Adm. W.R. Furlong was "Dutch," and Rear Adm. Julius Augustus Furer was "Dutchy." These were not simply casual nicknames; this was the address of correspondence by these men throughout their careers.32 As a style it was nearly unique; neither the naval "generations" before the First nor after the Second World Wars had such a strong and conscious brand of fellowship.
The sense of fraternity had another indicator in the attachment of groups of officers to the ships in which they served. This was true not only of shared service in each named ship but of the common associations of larger groups of officers with representative classes and types. To those who received commissions at the turn of the century, the ships of the Armored Cruiser Squadron, bristling with guns and four stately stacks, embodied a raffish romance:
Here's to the cruisers of the Fleet So goldurn fast, they're hard to beat,
27
The battleships, they may be fine, But me for a cruiser every time.
The officers are a bunch of drunks.
They keep their white clothes in their trunks. They stand their watches in their bunks.
In the Armored Cruiser Squadron.33
Not so different in esprit were the stanzas found in Adm. William Sowden Sims' papers, also from the first decade of this century, entitled, simply, Destroyer Men:
There's a roll and pitch and heave and hitch
To the nautical gait they take, For they're used to the cant of the decks aslant
As the white-toothed combers break
On the plates that thrum like a beaten drum As the knife bow leaps through the yeasty deeps
With the speed of a shell in flight.
Oh, their scorn is quick for the crews who stick
To a battleship's steady floor, For they love the lurch of their own frail perch
At thirty-five knots or more. They don't get much of the drill and such
That the battleship jackies do, But sail the seas in their dungarees,
A grimy destroyer's crew.34
To those who served in the Armored Cruiser Squadron or the Torpedo Flotilla, there remained a special feeling of kinship. Like the"'Sons of Gunboats" remembered by Yarnell, these distinct fellowships of officers celebrated their membership in arduous or exotic service in poetry and in song, centering on the remembered image of a ship type: the incarnation, both of the moment recalled and their place in it, as though its shape and its purpose had been a mirror of their own.
A spirit it was, not so very different from that of Nelson's fleet a century before. Then, the anthem of the British sailor was "Spanish Ladies," the lyric of the Grand Fleet blockading Brest in the last months before Trafalgar:
We'll rant and we'll roar like true British Sailors We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt sea
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of Old England
From Ushant to Scilly is forty five leagues.
28
This version of the old song was found among the papers of Rear Adm. Stephen B. Luce, the founder of the Naval War College. When the U.S.S. Galena put in to Port Royal in Jamaica at the end of 1888, Luce carefully transcribed the verses, "given by English sailors."35 The notion of a naval fraternity, drawing both inspiration and continuity from a tradition endowed with overtones of transatlantic ancestry, was a conscious model for the American sea officer.
Finally, the corporate ethos of the U.S. Navy created intense feelings of allegiance between officers and their service. A man who had passed through the ritualized process of initiation and acculturation and who then gave the measure of his mature life became indivisible from the fleet. If he were, at the watershed rank of captain, to be "passed over" for selection to higher command, the rejection was emotionally devastating. A naval officer in his early fifties, though still physically vigorous, had accumulated too heavy a sea chest of associations to move to a new berth.
Capt. J.V. Babcock, after 2 years commanding the Naval R.O.T.C. Unit at Yale University from 1931-33, was faced with this final recognition. He wrote to Capt. Dudley W. Knox, the Nestorian figure of the interwar Navy, on a Depression October and ended his confession with this sad defiance:
/ am not giving up. 36 odd years connection with a profession to which one has devoted every effort and thought, holding its best interests paramount to every other consideration — personal, family — everything — is not easily relinquished. Even if forced to retire, my inclinations — my loyalty — would still be toward the Service.36
The corporate ethos was the foundation for the superstructure of mission that gave the Navy political and strategic suasion in American national society. At the heart of the corporate ethos was a feeling of fellowship among the leadership of the Navy society. This fraternity was linked to a tradition and a "way of life" so ritualized, so all-embracing, that, for the naval generation before Pearl Harbor, these patterns could be represented as a set of behaviors approaching a distinct ethos. The very intensity and autochthony of the Navy corporate ethos was responsible for the symbolic power, and political pull, in the Navy's higher sense of mission in American life.
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CHAPTER IV MISSION AND ETHOS
"Mission" defined the role of the Navy in national society. If the corporate ethos demarcated institutional norms, mission focused on the formulation of policy. One described the Navy as a society, one as a polity. In the generation of political influence through time, mission created both historical context and expectation. As mission implied a role for the Navy in the making of national policy, mission sought as well a role in the making of national history.
"Mission" was a pliant doctrine, shifting its perceived boundary posts with the prevailing public mood. The parameters of military participation in American political life yield not only to generations, but to the course of events. Beneath the cant of doctrine, and the leash of public statement, is the free run of private correspondence: the den of ethos. There, the deeper continuities of mission were shared for generations, and passed down, within the naval fraternity, from officer to officer. For the U.S. Navy between the wars, the actor's mask of public doctrine, worn annually for congressional shows, hid a despairing off-stage face.
"Mission," both as public doctine and as private heresy, was the highest expression of the Navy ethos. The fraternity of the sea provided both environmental and institutional context: the corporate ethos was primarily turned inward. War and diplomacy generated national and international commitment; Navy mission in the 20th century reflected a nation's evolution outward.
Mission in the Navy ethos can be explored from four reference points: "Defender of the Faith," "The Legacy of Darwin," "Law and Warfare," and "The World Island." Each motif in the Navy mission was linked to a historical paradigm coexistent in American national society. As national paradigms were displaced by succeeding fashion, correspondent motifs of the Navy mission were compounded. By the interwar era, the
30
Navy mission had evolved through successive admixture into a rich compound: a strong blend of variant attitudes of the Navy's part in the making, and the future, of America.
Defender of the Faith
The first, and original, motif of the Navy mission was rooted in the image of the Navy as "Shield of the Republic." This metaphor was a response to the strategic insecurity of Young America, a nation open to blockade and the bombardment or seizure of all major ports. The course of America's first two wars provided ample reason for such insecurity. The Civil War, ironically, demonstrated America's continuing strategic maritime vulnerability; although the blockading and amphibious operations were initiated by the U.S. Navy. An exchange of relative position, had America been placed in conflict with the "predominant naval power," was hardly beyond imagination. In fact, British preparations for war against the Union in December 1861 exposed the weakness of the American coast, North and South, to blockade by a navy possessed of sufficient force and New World bases.1 The strategic equation of the 19th century supported Washington's prediction that the United States, by 1812, could no longer be successfully invaded.2 Not until 1903 was the nation completely free from the specter of blockade.3
As the predominant metaphor of the Navy's role in national strategy throughout the 19th century, the "Shield Paradigm" claimed two "schools": one Jeffersonian, one Hamiltonian. Traced from their source, the two schools, "Anti-Navalist" and "Navalist,"4 represented the bifurcated branch of the American ethos. Jefferson, supported by a party dominated by agrarian Western and Southern interests, defined America's maritime security at the limiting range of a 24-pounder coastal battery: 3 miles. His administration built 177 gunboats, incapable of real seagoing operations.5 As long as the nation's shores were free from invasion and some shred of coastal trade survived, the question of strategic blockade was irrelevant. Jeffersonian concepts of national security did not extend beyond the iron yett, bolted, in the sanctuary wall.
Writing as "Publius," Hamilton, in 1787, conceived of a divergent framework of national security. Linking America's future growth, even its survival, to an "active commerce, an extensive navigation, and a flourishing marine,"6 he
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underscored "the necessity of naval protection."7 Far from limiting its duty to the defense of American enterprise, Hamilton envisaged the Navy as a tool of international diplomacy: "a resource for influencing the conduct of European nations towards us."8 He called America's strategic position in the New World "a most commanding one"; toward which the accretion of a small battle fleet, "a few ships of the line," could promote the United States as "the arbiter of Europe in America, able to incline the balance of European competitions in this part of the world as our interests may dictate."9 In this context Hamilton was perhaps the first American to forecast a strategic policy of hemispheric security.
By calling for the United States "to aim at an ascendant in the system of American affairs," by identifying naval power as the critical means to the achievement of this end, Publius fashioned the image of America's future national, and naval, policy. In his prevision of the Monroe Doctrine, the Navy mission, although defensive in motive, was a defensive posture on a hemispheric strategic scale. Hamilton posited a security system tailored to national economic strength. The modest battle force he suggested appropriating during his generation would be but a first step. Ultimately, to achieve "the ascendant" in the New World, a "Federal" navy would require a battle fleet capable of repelling sorties by the strongest squadrons of the Old.10
Jefferson and Hamilton created two divergent constructions of American naval policy, emanating from two visions of America's future, set in a historical tense of inalienable opposition. The debate did not slacken during the period between the two great wars. In fact, the imagery of Jefferson and Hamilton was consciously employed, like Latin homilies, to justify the orthodoxy of the "true faith" of American foreign policy and the nation's true strategic needs.
In a lecture entitled "The National Interest," revisionist historian Charles Beard faced the assembled class of the Army War College on a cold January morning in 1935 and informed them, bluntly, "that the Hamiltonian conception of national interest, however logical and charming and attractive it may be, now lies amid ruins of its own making."11 In Beard's indictment, the "true faith" of the American ethos, which he called the national interest, was "Jeffersonian." What the historian labeled as "Hamiltonian," the search for international markets, was his own shibboleth for the imperialism of private capital. Naval power was the agent of its expansion: "unconditional supremacy
32
upon the sea is necessary to the enforcement of all private interests, assertions, or claims against all other governments."12 Unlike Hamilton's vision, which "lays emphasis on interest rather than the nation, Jefferson emphasized the nation rather than interest."13 Beard viewed both Hamilton and the maintenance of an oceanic navy as essentially British heresies: "Our country is a continental power," and the nation's only legitimate interest "to defend itself against any foreign power that might break in upon its domestic security and peace."14 Beard, the latter-day Jeffersonian strategist, also defined "domestic security" according to a literal coastal cannon, no doubt upgraded in range. Technology had not yet displaced tradition.
Understandably, the U.S. Navy adopted a modified Hamiltonian, or broad construction, of traditional images of American naval policy. By the interwar era the Navy mission as originally conceived by Hamilton had evolved into a relatively sophisticated argument, operating on several levels of evidentiary support. These operated, although not consciously, on three tiers: "The Lessons of History," "The Interpretation of Scripture," and "The Handwriting on the Wall."
In opposition to Beard's paradigmatic representation of Jefferson, the American ethos, and the national interest, the Navy turned to one of its own, Capt. Dudley W. Knox, to champion a countervailing paradigm. As chief of the Navy Department's Historical Section between the wars, Knox was something of a minister of propaganda for the Navy. Between 1930 and 1940 he wrote at least 44 major public addresses for Charles Francis Adams, Ernest Lee Jahncke, and Claude Swanson, Secretaries of the Navy, and Admirals Standley and Stark, who held the CNO post during that decade.15 Other officers making public statements regularly sought him out for advice and guidance.16 The body of his writing and correspondence provided a clear definition of the Navy's mission within the traditional framework of American foreign policy. As chief ideologue, he delineated the three tiers of the Navy response to Jefferson, and Beard.
"The Lessons of History," appropriately, were cast from the period embracing the publication of the Federalist Papers to the Treaty of Ghent. The lessons of Hamilton's own era were seized, again and again, to illustrate the need for a strong ocean-ranging navy. In the seminal period of this nation's foreign policy, from 1788-1814, maritime questions played a central role in
33
decisionmaking. Without sufficient naval power, the issues leading to the Quasi-war with France, the Barbary wars, and the War of 1812 could not have been resolved; with sufficient naval power, war in each case would have been unnecessary and resolution achieved through deterrence diplomacy.
Knox drove home this point with especial strength in a "Memorandum prepared for the President at his direction." Dated 13 January 1938, the short essay spelled out the lessons of America's first naval wars to Franklin Roosevelt. The vital center of Knox's thesis lay in a long quote from the ultimate Hamiltonian document, "The Farewell Address."17 Written while Roosevelt was struggling for passage of the second Vinson-Trammell Act, Knox's "lesson" was contemporary in theme:
Throughout this whole set of experiences with the Barbary Powers and France, weakness on our part was a strong influence towards getting us into wars. The influence of adequate naval force, used as a backing to diplomacy, well proved itself to be the best instrument of peace. Time has not changed these principles.18
In close association with Roosevelt, Knox was directed, beginning in 1933, to supervise the preparation and publication of documents dealing with the Quasi-war with France and the Barbary wars. Knox implied that there was more than a discrete political purpose to the creation of the 14-volume set; the project required congressional approval. Did Roosevelt wish to post a subtle reminder of the "lessons of history" to a legislature lapsing into traditional forgetfulness?19
By 1939, the historical lessons of the early years of the Republic, when the Navy was neglected, had become an identifiable metaphor in every Navy Day speech and radio address. For example, a radio broadcast by Standley of that year, on the 18th Navy Day, highlights the function of the "lesson" in Navy propaganda:
The war of the American Revolution marked the beginning of our naval effort — it also marked the initiation of a habit which is still with us — the failure of our people to profit by the lessons of history.20
By placing the vagaries of the contemporary scene in analogy with the first years of nationhood, the Navy was able to link its
34
mission to the source of traditional American foreign policy: the Farewell Address. By identifying original with immediate policy issues, the Navy refreshed the words of Hamilton and Washington with weight and context. Not only was the Navy, then, wedded to tradition; tradition was made relevant and, in becoming once more an authentic voice, was renewed.
"The Interpretation of Scripture" followed the reaffirmation of historical source. Once the Navy mission had been bonded to Hamilton's concept of the "national interest," and the vexations of early America linked to the modern scene, the argument could continue by connecting contemporary concepts of "interests" to 18th-century embryo. There were several mottoes:
— "It is a proverb that a weak nation is a contemptible nation."21 Admiral Gleaves said this in a radio broadcast on Navy Day, 1922, echoing Publius, and "a nation, despicable in its weakness."22 America must be strong, to maintain even a shred of dignity.
— American neutrality can only be preserved through naval strength.23 When Dudley Knox, in 1937, wrote that it was "becoming increasingly obvious that moral suasion would not deter" potential belligerents, he was only reviving Washington's warning in the Farewell Address: "the most sincere neutrality is not a sufficient guard."24 When Knox underscored "the futility of weakness in preserving neutrality,"25 he restated Hamilton's adjuration, that the unarmed nation "forfeits even the privilege of being neutral."26
— "An active commerce," wrote Publius, carried "in our own bottoms," comprised the American "wings by which we might soar to greatness."27 In 20th-century reiteration, Knox wrote, for the 1936 Navy Day address: "We turn more and more towards overseas markets ... all of our trade contacts with the outside world must necessarily be by sea. A merchant marine capable of carrying a large proportion of our commerce is a
necessity "28 Restating Hamilton, Standley, in August 1940,
reminded the radio audience that the Navy was the champion of American commerce: "Our trade freedom depends entirely upon seapower."29
— "An adequate Navy is the cheapest imaginable insurance against future extravagance in blood and treasure."30 Julius Augustus Furer made this plea for "preparedness" in a 1927 Navy Day address in Pittsburgh. This theme traced its ancestry to Washington. Knox, in his memorandum to Roosevelt, quoted from Washington's annual address to Congress, 1793:
35
If we desire to avoid insult, we must be able to repel it; if we desire to secure peace, it must be known that we are at all times ready for war.31
Navy leaders in the interwar era were fond of quoting both from Washington and Theodore Roosevelt, who was remembered, between the wars, as a kind of "Founding Father" of the U.S. Navy. The coincidence of Navy Day and Roosevelt's birthday was a recurrent motif in Navy Day speeches. Gleaves ended his radio address for Navy Day, 1922, with a quotation of the 26th President, almost identical to the words of the first:
We need to keep in a condition of preparedness especially as regards the Navy, not because we want war, but because we desire to stand with those whose plea is listened to with respectful attention.32
These were the four pillars of the traditional Navy mission as "Shield of the Republic," holding lineage from Hamilton and Washington. Each column had a shibboleth as capital, easily recognized, employed again and again in the Navy's meager interwar propaganda effort: "America must have a strong navy to command respect"; "American neutrality requires naval muscle"; "America's future depends upon an independent marine"; and "Only preparedness can preserve peace." These were the images chosen, subconsciously, from Hamilton's paper number eleven from The Federalist; the bedrock of tradition, the subliminal text of Navy scripture.
"The Handwriting on the Wall" was the Navy's collective warning of America's potential fate if the "lessons" of its past and the scriptual adjurations of the Navy mission were to be ignored. Perhaps the most evocative and traditional warning was made by Admiral Standley in his August 1940 radio address. He began by prophesying that, with superior coalition, this group would "wage a war of strangulation" against the American economy.33 In The Federalist, Hamilton warned of a similar fate, in which "national wealth would be stifled and lost, and poverty and disgrace would overspread the country."34 In Standley's nightmare,
we should soon find ourselves driven from the markets of the world. Our living standards would decline beneath anything we had ever known. If we considered to live under
36
this form of economic tyranny, the least effort to live in any degree of Political or Religious Liberty would bring down upon us the specter of starvation or direct attack. The choice would not be ours.35
Standley's imagery was an unconscious, yet striking mimesis of Hamilton:
It would be in the power of the maritime nations, availing themselves of our universal impotence, to prescribe the conditions of our political existence.36
In the year of the Washington Conference, Gleaves revived the imagery of "impotence" when he spoke of "a Naval Holiday and an impotent Navy."37 The results of the naval conference at Washington had a devastating emotional effect on Navy leadership. Watching the promise of American naval supremacy hauled from slipway to scrapyard, gazing helplessly as a freeze on Pacific base development wrecked the Orange war plan, chafing at the ignorance of Congress and public to push for a fleet built to Treaty limits, officers could do little to halt the slide of the Navy to second-class status. As early as 1922 Knox warned in a fiery pamphlet of The Eclipse of American Sea Power}9, Sixteen years later, he wrote: "The failure to limit armaments by international agreement is the greatest world tragedy since the holocaust of the World War."39 In 1922 Gleaves said that "the United States got the full kick of the Conference Treaty";40 in 1938 Knox could agree that "America took it on the chin when it came to a naval limitation."41
The relative erosion of American seapower between the wars heightened the sonority of naval invocation of "The Handwriting on the Wall." Furer's 1927 radio address rang Cassandra-like:
Since the beginning of recorded history, no nation having world contacts equivalent to those of the United States, has long survived as a leading nation after losing sea power, whether we consider the small world of Carthage, or the ever larger worlds of Venice, Spain, Holland, Germany. All declined because of lack of adequate sea power.42
By defining the Navy mission along a historical continuum traceable to the very genesis of American foreign policy, the
Navy's leadership was able to cement an unbreachable
37
foundation for the interpretation of contemporary policy. Their goal was to develop naval policy within the context of national strategy. In doing so, these men — perhaps unwilling ideologues — arrived at their own definition of national interests and national strategy: their own vision of America.
The Legacy of Darwin
Social Darwinism had its heyday in the last decade of the 19th and the first decade of the 20th centuries. As an explanation and as an exculpation, it provided the "European World" with a doctrine at once more malleable and more modern than traditional theories of "national interest." Used by American leadership groups primarily to defend the necessity for what Frederick Merk has termed the "Insular Imperialism" of 1898, and its aftermath,43 Social Darwinism permeated the Navy mission. Promoted by the writings of Mahan, the Navy's use of Darwinian imagery had a profound, and traceable, influence on the climate of political life. Decisions were made in an atmosphere casually referrent to both Darwin and Mahan. The Navy sensed "the spirit of the age," accepted its world view, and reinforced its ethos. As Mahan said, at the Royal Naval College, Dartmouth:
Man cannot escape the spirit of his age. It surrounds him as an atmosphere. It bears him as a current, sweeping him continually into new conditions. These, which constitute his changeful environment, even if they do not essentially, though gradually, change his native character.44
What may be said of a man may be enlarged to include a society. The U.S. Navy embraced Social Darwinism in part because it embodied the prevailing spirit of the age, and so carried moral imperative in national ethos; in part because it offered the Navy a more expansive role in national life, and the making of national future. The traditional motifs of the Navy mission as "Shield of the Republic" held scant appeal in an era devoid of visible threat to established American interests and security. Evolving overseas interests, cast in Darwinian market metaphor, required naval protection. The generation of the "Sons of Gunboats" could anticipate adventure in exotic scape, and experience the sensation of status as agents of the American variant of Mahan's paradigm: they felt themselves the cutting edge of seapower in pursuit of empire.45
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Social Darwinism as a moral justification of the Navy mission began to recede after America's entry into war in 1917. The German threat raised the stock of the "Shield" paradigm, reviving traditional Hamiltonian perspective of the Navy's role. After the armistice, the brief sway of the "Wilsonian" vision created an expectation of the Navy as "Guardian" of a new international order. Hughes and Lodge transmuted this sweeping revision of the world political system into a more strictly constructed set of international legal arrangements. The limitation of naval armaments, as well as the four and nine power treaties achieved at Washington, promised to usher in an era of legal resolution to international conflict.
As cooperation replaced conflict as the perceived mainspring of international relations, the postulates defining Social Darwinism were discredited by example. Recent history had produced a Great War that had seemed but the culmination of a process of "Darwinian" social evolution. Now, with peace and justice triumphant, the prevailing mood among the recent allies was one of relief. Civilization had been spared, the deadly cycle of Darwinian struggle among nations had been broken. The world had been given another chance. Social Darwinism, as a paradigm associated with conditions before the Great War, no longer simply described world dynamics; it created them. In order that the world polity might move toward a bright future, shared through cooperation and legal order, the paradigm of a natural order rooted in struggle, founded on power, and principled without mercy, must be forever interred.46
Postwar idealism buried the legacy of Darwin: a new age had brought a new public spirit in American politics. To a degree, the Navy ethos evolved to accept and reflect this new paradigm in the national ethos. To a greater degree, the Navy kept alive the vision, if not the politics, of Social Darwinism. In part, this allegiance was because of the thorough indoctrination of the works of Mahan to the leadership generation of the interwar era. Mahan's writing was infused with the imagery of Social Darwinism:
All around us is strife; "the struggle of life," "the race of life," are phrases so familiar that we do not feel their significance till we stop to think about them. Everywhere nation is arrayed against nation; our own no less than others.47
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By 1918, naval officers had grown accustomed to viewing the "realities" of the international political system through a Darwinian lens. In this highly referent world view the legal agreements of the Washington Treaty System were suspect, for they in no way altered fundamental world dynamics. Nations would continue to struggle for existence, to vie for supremacy; and in this eternal competition, only the fittest would survive.
After the World War, three basic motifs of Social Darwinism continued in Navy currency: the struggle for markets, the struggle for living space, the struggle for racial supremacy.
On 28 July 1915, Rear Adm. A.M. Knight, president of the Naval War College, presented a working definition of the struggle for markets:
The present almost world-wide war appears to be a struggle for industrial and commercial supremacy; or, more concretely, for control of the markets and the carrying trade of the world.48
In May 1918, only 6 months from the armistice, the Navy's London Planning Section called "War the ultimate form of economic competition." In their analysis, "the necessity for markets" dominated "the national policies of the world" during the 19th century. From their perspective, there was no doubt that "the intensified economic struggle of the past fifty years has led to the present war."49
Fifteen years later, even before the rise of the "revisionist" dictatorships and the rearmament of the world, the Navy leadership thought in terms of a world posited on a struggle for economic advantage. In his annual lecture to the Naval War College on "National Strategy," Dudley Knox, on 7 October 1932, spoke of a "titanic economic struggle." American national strategy "must be predicted first of all upon the existence of competition, especially in the economic field, as the fundamental basis of national life."50
Each of these pronouncements — prewar, war, and postwar — was privately expressed and confidentially held. Together they represent as well a continuum of values expressed through time. Knox was a student at the Naval War College in 1913, the same year Knight took over as president. In 1918, as a member of the Naval Planning Section in London, Knox drafted the memorandum that spoke of history as "economic struggle." As deliverer of the climatic lecture of the War College course of the
40
1930s, Knox handed a fully shaped world view to the future leaders of the Second World War, as he had been given his by the old generation of the War College before the First. A similar continuity linked the other, salient motifs of Social Darwinism through time, from generation to generation.
The Navy's vision of the struggle for living space was unrolled by Capt. W.L. Rogers at a General Board meeting, 27 July 1915:
The world is now approaching a crisis of overcrowding
It is a reasonable belief that the present great war is one of a series to follow of comparable magnitude due to the
increasing population of the world As the world fills up
and strong and virile peoples find they must expand or starve, the victors must finally challenge the United States.51
The Naval Planning Section in London echoed this vision at the end of the war, in Memorandum No. 21. Capts. F.H. Schofield, Luke McNamee, and Dudley Knox, its authors, concluded that "fundamental policies assume an aggressive aspect . . . with nations having a great density of population, combined with a high rate of increase and a restricted area for expansion."52 In a 1921 lecture delivered at the Naval War College, Capt. R.R. Belknap characterized Japan as "an island power of prolific and already crowded population," whose "teeming" people must "gradually expand to the mainland."53 Knox, writing in 1938, came to much the same judgment: "Unquestionably, the fundamental aspect of Japan's adventure on the continent is economic. She seeks relief from overpopulation."54
Rodgers was president of the Naval War College, 1911-13, while Knox was a student, as well as Schofield. Belknap was director of the Strategy Department at the War College, 1921- 23, and McNamee was its president from 1933-34. 55 Again, the continuum of world view was linked by values transmitted through the Newport nexus.
The material needs of societies have their corollary in the spirit of peoples: what is called national character. In the Navy motifs of Social Darwinism, the struggle for racial supremacy was not only a causal factor in the struggle for markets and living space, it was the key to success in material competition, the mystical cipher of survival. In its international relations the United States would inevitably face cultures, then called "races," possessed of the vital energy needed not only to survive, but to surpass. These races were the natural enemies of America.
41
In 1910 Mahan compared both Japan and Germany to Sparta, as "manifesting the same restless need for self-assertion and expansion"; their national cultures, however unpleasant they were made by possessing these qualities, were, "as an element of mere force, whether in economics or in international polities, superior."56 Rodgers' memorandum of 1915 called nations like Germany and Japan "strong and virile peoples," and, as "races," implied that they "are not altruistic but egoistic, and their national policies are primarily selfish and are advanced only by force."57 Memorandum No. 21, in 1918, came to the same findings: "when their racial characteristics are virile and militaristic, and their form of government autocratic, strong tendency towards forcible expansion must be expected. Germany and Japan are nations which fulfill these conditions."58
During the period between the two great wars, the Navy's imagery of a coming struggle for racial, as well as economic, supremacy focused primarily on Japan. Belknap, in 1921, spoke of the possible "unification of the yellow race" under Japanese suzerainty, "with effect too far-reaching on white civilization for such a possible eventuality to be accepted. The outcome threatens our race."59 Twenty years later, Capt. W.D. Puleston, biographer of Mahan and Director of Naval Intelligence, could write of the Japanese character:
The basic cause of Japan's desire to obtain more territory is innate and for that reason is more dangerous than if it had been artificially created: it springs from the fecund, virile, courageous and acquisitive Japanese people.60
This is a spiritual restatement of Mahan: the world view of a former age transplanted unaltered to another era. In similar fashion, Adm. H.D. Yarnell's important 1938 memorandum, "Situation in the Pacific," echoed almost word for word the imagery of Memorandum No. 21, drafted in 1918. As a young lieutenant commander, Yarnell served on the Naval Planning Section in London; he was part of the writing of that wartime document. Twenty years had not shaken Darwin from his world view.61
The survival of "Darwinian" motifs in the Navy world view created a texture of cynicism to the Navy ethos, and an expectation of inevitable conflict in the Navy mission. The combined triad of conflict over markets, living space, and racial supremacy prompted the London Planning Section to conclude that all national policies were rooted in two instincts:
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(1) Self preservation, and
(2) Self interest62
as though nations were like enormous saurians, locked in combat for survival in some Jurassic scene. This unstated sense of world dynamics provoked a profoundly pessimistic definition of Navy mission. Rodgers, in 1915, went so far as to suggest "that the purpose of our Navy is to protect the nation from undue economic pressure in the face of advancing populations."63 In contrast to the Hamiltonian vision of the Navy mission, as the agent of United States ascendancy in the hemisphere, the equalizer of New World to Old, the Darwinian vision made the Navy merely the agent of American survival in a spectral future of successive world wars.
Law and Warfare
Before a victorious armistice thrust America into the ring- center of the world order, the United States role in the legal preservation and regulation of that order was narrowly constructed. According to Hamilton's tetrarchal division of the globe, America claimed ascendancy over the "hemisphere" of the New World. The Monroe Doctrine created the legal framework for a New World international system, or oikoumene. By 1903, in the second Venezuelan crisis, the U.S. battle fleet was able to sublimely cement Old World acceptance of this concept on the fringes of international law. Within the American sphere, the United States, ascendant, was able, through the enforcement agencies of Navy and Marine Corps, to act both as peacemaker and lawgiver.64
International global participation before 1917 was slight. The active, though minor part played by U.S Marines in the Boxer Rebellion was more an emblem of new-found American membership in the "Imperial Club" than it was a sign of a policy of legal and military "globalism."65 Succeeding transoceanic displays of force — the cruise of the "Great White Fleet" and the European cruises of 1910-13 — were unilateral forays, and involved no legal negotiation. America's use of armed forces on the world stage before 1917 was purely demonstrative.66
After Versailles, the United States, as an ex-member of a global military alliance, had accepted associations with the other great powers, the traditional arbiters of the world order. As the predominant postwar military power, the United States was expected to take an active role in the legal preservation and
43
regulation of the international system: to arbitrate, to intervene, to forcibly settle conflict between nations; not simply within the American, but throughout the world, sphere. Between the wars, the Navy's perceived peacetime mission diverged from this expectation.
The mission of the U.S. Navy as peacemaker became a crucial component of a mild propaganda effort. Between the Washington Conference and the Munich crisis, Navy leadership was reluctant to underscore the role of the fleet in general war. "I believe that themes relating to the need of a Navy for possible war will be harmful, and build up a widespread public opinion against the Navy."67 So the Navy's chief interwar ideologue, Dudley Knox, wrote in his instructions on the use of radio propaganda. In Knox's opinion, "public opinion unquestionably rules the country," and the Navy, in its public broadcasts, must at all costs "studiously avoid" antagonizing "any American Society devoted to the promotion of peace."68 Knox's propaganda solution admitted of only two, public, Navy missions:
viz (1) the value of a Navy in promoting overseas commerce, and (2) the Navy as a peacemaker. The Country should know more of this diplomatic, peacemaking naval function, and that the Navy is by far the greatest peacemaker in its government.69
This was written in 1930. Throughout the 1920s, Navy Day speeches reflected Knox's adjuration: to emphasize the Navy's goal "to substitute law for war in the settlement of international differences."70 Those were also Gleaves' words in his Navy Day broadcast of 1922. His role as recent Commander of the Asiatic Fleet had required delicate, frontline diplomatic maneuvering in Siberia. He did not hesitate to hammer home the Navy's part in "the maintenance of order" in Vladivostock, or in stamping out piracy in the China Seas, or in "protecting missionaries from bandits," or in refugee relief and transportation from "the quay in Smyrna," or in feeding the starving from Odessa to Tienstien.71 The Navy's peacemaking role was given pride of place among Navy missions:
It is well to remind you that the Navy has never caused a war or tempted the country to go to war. It has been a potent factor in preventing war and in protecting lives and property. The Navy has saved more lives and property than
44
it has ever destroyed. The Navy is a great constructive force.72
In casting for images of actual armed intervention by Navy and Marines to enforce peace, Navy propagandists were forced, during the interwar era, to call on ambiguous Caribbean campaigns, most from the prewar age of "Dollar Diplomacy." Any taint of "imperial" self-interest in these incidents was ignored rather than denied. As Gleaves described these expeditions "in Haiti and San Domingo; in Cuba and Nicaragua, the Navy — and the Marines — has preserved law and order. It has built roads, school houses and hospitals and introduced sanitation."73 The missions of Law and Civilization, as Victorian evolutionary throwbacks, survived as the Navy's phenotype of the peacemaking mission. Within the Navy's world view, the Latin American interventions of the gunboat era, and the international uses of military force suggested after 1919, differed only in degree. Unilateral or multilateral, the Navy's vision of its peacemaking mission evolved from a notion of American "idealism," and not from a strong belief in international law:
The United States is the first nation in the history of the world to practice idealism in its international affairs. What other nation can point to altruistic policies such as those pursued by the United States toward the Philippines, Cuba, Santo Domingo, Haiti, China? Perhaps if we become strong enough at sea we can indoctrinate the world with American idealism that unselfishness in international affairs will become a habit and an accepted element in the morality of nations 74
Tempered by the postulates of Hamilton, the Navy was tempted to view the concept of an international legal order as another "instrument of European greatness" by which, according to Publius, the European sphere, "by force and by fraud," "extended her dominion over them all."75 Furer's 1927 vision of "American idealism" revealed an almost Hamiltonian mistrust of the European oikoumene. In assuming that American values were inherently superior to those of other cultures, Navy leaders implicitly rejected American submission to an external framework of international conduct. This notion was reinforced in the early 20th century by the "survival" and "struggle" motifs of Social Darwinism. Not only, by tradition,
45
was the world run by a moral standard inferior to the American; the remorseless conflict of nation against nation was beyond the control of any supranational legal framework. The outbreak of European war in 1914 merely confirmed these essential postulates. To American naval officers, the external world was as full of dangers as it was of cynicism. As W.L. Rodgers, president of the Naval War College, wrote in 1915:
International Law, as a rule of conduct, is more practicable today, than it will be in the near future. As the world fills up with strong and virile peoples, the code of international manners which we call "international law" will become as of little force as is the code of individual manners in a panic- stricken crowd.76
The deep thread of pessimism in Rodgers' vision stemmed in part from the gathering apocalyptic quality of the Great War. To equate the law of nations with the vagaries of "manners," like Erasmus regarding our folly, was to assume that the world order possessed a natural state, unchanged by cycles of war and peace. If the United States were to act as peacemaker, this mission should be confined to its own sphere: America and the trans- Philippine Pacific. Within that system, peace, and law, would be American.77
After the Great War the Navy continued to define its mission in terms of the defense of national interests. An equal mission priority to enforce an international legal system was considered a derisory role for America's Navy. For a brief moment, immediately after the armistice, a small claque of officers led by Assistant Chief of Naval Operations, William Veazie Pratt, were swept away by the spirit of a victorious postwar world. On 11 November 1918 these men submitted a memorandum to the CNO, "Proposed Plans for Establishment of League of Nations Army and Navy." At its heart Pratt's concept was one of Anglo- American world codominion, with supporting roles allotted to the minor allies. A predominant English-speaking navy would rule the seas and perform much the same maritime regulation as had the Royal Navy throughout the 19th century. The United States and Great Britain would each contribute an equal share. In this fashion, arms limitation would be assured.78
Pratt's impulse was to replace international competition with cooperation, realized through the instrument of superpower collaboration. In 1919 this was a simple and realistic
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arrangement, for the United States and Great Britain were the only first-rank military and industrial powers and their collective naval power could easily have dominated the globe. The arms limitation agreement signed in Washington 3 years later stopped short of real arms control and merely restricted the most superficial index of seapower, the capital ship. The naval treaties of 1922 and 1930 were the only movements the United States made between the wars to participate in a formal, legal framework of a world order. The nation was not ready for anything approaching Anglo-American codominion.
The Navy was even less ready. Apart from Pratt and his acolytes in the CNO's Office, Adm. William S. Sims, then president of the Naval War College, continued to champion Anglo-American friendship as he had since his famous Guildhall speech in 1910.79 Sims' was a minority opinion in the service. His Anglophilia was mistrusted, especially so by Adm. William S. Benson, Chief of Naval Operations.80 Benson still judged British motives along Darwinian and Hamiltonian lines: they were fierce competitors, and they had always destroyed their commercial rivals, even those their allies:
It should be clearly and constantly borne in mind that a fixed and continuous aim of British diplomacy ... is to further the interests of British commerce at the expense of every other nation, whether friend or enemy.81
At the same time that Pratt's group was discussing a future world order based on Anglo-American codominion, the U.S. Naval Planning Section was discussing a future war with the British Empire. In Memorandum No. 67, dated 21 November
1918, Knox, McNamee, and Schofield concluded that the "natural state" of the world had been unchanged by global war. The United States and Great Britain were rivals whose interests must inevitably conflict. Cooperation would never supplant competition; and competition too often leads to war. "These are the facts of the case irrespective of the state of the Entente Cordiale existing between the two countries."82
Navy, as well as nation, rejected an international mission after
1919. The Navy followed the prevailing public mood, and emphasized its role as peacemaker and lawgiver within a traditionally demarcated American sphere. Beyond the boundary posts of strategic interest, the Navy mission embraced
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the active, though unilateral, defense of American commercial interests, as on the Yangtze. As one of the twin naval stanchions supporting an international legal system the United States would have been forced to accept two revisionist postulates in its world view: codominion with its traditional rival and ancient enemy and the authority of an external ethos, a superior legal code. America, and its Navy, was unequal to such subordination.
The World Island
"Mission" reached its ultimate evolution before Pearl Harbor with the paradigm of the "world island." Autochthonous to the Navy, it represented the final blend of motifs in the making of the Navy mission before the watershed of world war. Borrowing its imagery in part from each of three basic antecedent paradigms, the "world island" was the most completely realized metaphor created by the Navy to illuminate its role in an era when the concept of a "national strategy" was publicly despised.
It was as the metaphoric hub of the Navy's concept of national strategy that the paradigm of the "world island" was formally developed. In 1932, 1933 and 1934, Capt. D.W. Knox delivered an annual autumn lecture at the Naval War College entitled "National Strategy."83 As the existential postulate of American identity, the image of the "world island" was the centerpiece of Knox's thesis. He attributed its invention to William Howard Gardiner, although his language reveals roots extending far below the topsoil of the contemporary scene, reaching down to Humboldt and Hamilton:
. . . the United States is analogous to a great world island near the middle of the single great world ocean, with natural ocean routes radiating east, west and south to the three other principal commercial regions of the world.84
So America was favored by Destiny, like Rome and Constantinople, to become the nexus of world intercourse, at the center of a globe-girdling temperate zone: "the isothermal zodiac." In unconscious echo of Publius, Knox divided the earth into four spheres, with the United States at the hub, reaching out in compass sweep, embracing the world periphery, as though the great globe itself was but a flat projection, a Mercator-like reality with America at its center. This was the "basic condition"
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of world dynamics, the "cardinal predicate of external national policy and strategy."85
Here was the metastasis of the Navy mission that succeeded the Great War. Gone was the sway of what W.L. Rodgers in 1915 mimetically called America's "splendid isolation,"86 by which the United States would guarantee through its naval bulwark the security of a fortress-like American system. Gone was the London Planning Section's vision of the Navy mission "to ensure our own preservation."87
Knox, by a decisive inversion of imagery, turned both the Hamiltonian and Darwinian interpretations of the Navy mission outward. By redefining the context of American identity from inward-facing to outward-gazing, he transformed the implications of the Navy mission from the defense of the American system to the global extension of intrinsic American interests. His vision of America as a "world island" created an essential corollary for national strategy: "It at once lifts us out of that narrow smothering assumption as to the Navy's mission, which is carried in the commonly accepted meaning of the term 'National Defense.'"88
By defining the United States as a "world island," and not merely a separate sphere, a New World, an American island irrevocably riven from Europe, Africa, and Asia, Knox proclaimed that the time had come to fulfill the promise inherent in the Hamiltonian vision of America, "to dictate the terms of the connection between the old and the new world!"89 Now, the United States, and its commerce, need not simply be defended. America, the triumphant economic giant, must extend itself to the periphery of the planet. In proclaiming a rejuvenated vision of American Destiny, no less manifest for its emphasis on "active commerce," Knox separated what he named "national interests" from the traditional shibboleths of foreign policy. At one rhetoric stroke, he detached the Navy from its strict constitutional role of supporting government policy, to a far-ranging mission of defending national interests: all inclusive. National strategy, Knox argued, was the formal framework for extending national interests through war and diplomacy. If so-called "national policies" had become, through twisted usage and tired convention, "more nearly fiction than fact," then they must be discarded. Both the Monroe Doctrine and the Open Door Policy were scrapped by Knox as realistic bases for national strategy. The Navy had a calling higher than the litany-like support of dead slogans:
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To be sound, policies must be firmly rooted in national interests; policies so based will permanently survive irrespective of temporary vagaries of political theories; and naval officers must base our national strategy on inherent national interests, rather than on vaguely defined policies.90
As a world island, American national interests were indivisible from American maritime interests:
The maintenance of these inherent maritime interests, essential to national economic life, requires an adequate American merchant marine and navy together with suitably
placed insular bases The Navy's mission is mainly linked
to the security of our maritime interests, and thus our national economy.91
This was taking Hamilton's adjuration to create an "active commerce" to its final extension: the rim of the world. Knox's appreciation of "adequate" encompassed a U.S. Navy, at a minimum, 10 percent larger than the British and fully twice the size of the Japanese Fleet.92 No less than a complete arc of bases in the Western Pacific, including the Solomons as well as the Philippine archipelago, providing alternate offensive axes, would satisfy American maritime interests in the Pacific; in the Atlantic, the acquisition of Trinidad and part of French Guiana was necessary to secure these interests.93 A fully developed network of forward bases was essential, in Knox's vision, for the fulfillment of national strategy.
These specific requirements, ironically, did not differ in degree from those of the General Board in 1915, nor of the London Planning Section in 1918. The critical distinction was one of world view. The Knox of 1932 had matured from the Knox of 1918. Rodgers, to the General Board, drew a plan for an American fortress, besieged by "strong and virile peoples." "The duty of the Navy is to preserve the United States from unendurable economic pressure."94 With equal emphasis, "preservation" was the guiding image of Knox, McNamee and Schofield in their 1918 memorandum to Benson.95 Fourteen years later Knox offered to the students of the Naval War College a different kind of promise. When he spoke of "insular bases." their functional imagery no longer described a defensive perimeter against Japanese and European "pressure"; he threw out, with an expansive gesture, the phrase "a chain of islands,"
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like a "broad highway" to rich markets and economic wealth.96 Like Whitman's vision:
I chant the world on my Western sea, I chant copious the islands beyond,
thick as stars in the sky, I chant America the mistress,
I chant a greater supremacy 97
Knox transformed Darwinian pejoration by infusing a tired creed with the energy of a distinctly American brand of Manifest Destiny. "The World Island" is a phrase redolent of early America, of Benton and Whitney and Gilpin, as well as Humboldt and Hamilton. Knox united the notion of international "economic competition," interwoven as it was into the tapestry of the Navy mission, with a positive, expansive promise of American destiny. As a commercial and maritime realization of America's role in the world system, as an "American entrepot," Knox drew unconscious inspiration from Hamilton.98 Knox previsioned the United States as a world leader through naval, as well as economic, strength. In this, he extended America beyond the limits imposed by 19th-century national strategy.
America must accept a realistic relationship with the rest of the world, and scrap its distancing idealism, if ever it hoped to achieve a predominant place. The United States, Knox demanded, "must eliminate altruism from its national strategy."99 By this, he meant simply that America must, like all other nations, look out for its own interests:
... it behooves our own government to play the game of national strategy under the universally accepted rules if the interests of America are to be preserved and world welfare is to be truly advanced. The world will profit most from a strong America.100
If the United States were ever to join a world order, it must do so from a position of strength; by implication, superior strength. In a single lecture, Knox managed to fuse all three coexistent paradigms of a Navy mission into a single, alloyed image. Reaction to his presentation at Newport can be gauged in part by his return, 3 years in a row, to score the same points to succeeding classes at the War College.101 In 1934 Capt. Milton Davis, head of the Department of Intelligence, wrote to Knox:
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The only criticism I could see in your lecture was that you approached the problem as an imperialist. Many of our people are not imperialists and some look upon your views as rather extreme. However, they were the views we were brought up on under Theodore Roosevelt, and many of us feel they are pretty good after all.102
That teachers at the War College could still praise policies a postwar world had branded as "imperialist" reveals the continuity of the Navy mission from the generation of Mahan, through to the generation that would fight a global war at decade's end.
Divergence between public mood and Navy mission between the wars obliged the service to share its beliefs in strict privacy. "National Strategy," submitted to the Naval Institute in 1933, was rejected for the award of prize essay, or even of honorable mention. In spite of the support of major voices in the Naval Establishment, including Adms. Fiske, Jones, and Schofield, the Board of Control of the Naval Institute hesitated to draw controversy, especially at a time when the Navy was fighting for its fiscal life. With the Vinson-Trammell Act not yet through the Senate, the Navy hierarchy stopped short of sanctioning Knox's exuberant portrayal of national strategy. To the contrary, those essays awarded were, in Knox's excoriating prose, plainly "defeatist," whose "weak-kneed advice is most extraordinary as coming from a group of naval officers."103
Even more symptomatic of the Navy's fear of forever alienating public opinion was a rebuttal written by Knox in 1932 for the Secretary of the Navy. Answering an article by Charles Beard for Harper's Magazine, "Our Confusion Over National Defense," Knox was forced to take exception to the historian's accusation that the Navy was attempting to create "a Navy strong enough to defend American trade everywhere and to carry on and win a major operation in any waters of the world against any power or combination of powers."104
In his reply, Knox averred unequivocally that "I am not aware that any naval officer in recent times has seriously advanced such an extreme view of our naval needs."105 Yet Knox was, himself, the very officer who implicitly described the Navy mission in those terms. Beard, had he been able to attend Knox's presentations at the War College, could not have drawn a better summary.
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Ultimately, no matter its public protestations and placatory ploys, the Navy was with Knox. By Munich, if not earlier, the Navy leadership was speaking publicly in imagery not far removed from the thesis of that decisive lecture, "National Strategy."106 Privately, in confidential correspondence, leaders sought ways to build up fleet strength. With the Washington and London Treaties due to expire on 31 December 1936, the Navy, in the perceptions of its leaders, would at last be freed from the ropes of the ratios, cut to lengths of 5:5:3. In 1935 Standley, then CNO, wrote to the president of the Naval War College, E.C. Kalbfus, concerning the post-Treaty naval building program for the United States. Kalbfus unhesitatingly advocated that the Navy "strive for a higher numerical ratio." His advice regarding Japan revealed a continuity of mission requirements:
The present treaty ratio is satisfactory in so far as a BLUE defensive war is concerned, but it is considered inadequate for a trans-Pacific offensive campaign. In the latter case, a ratio of at least 2:1 in favor of BLUE is indicated. We must strive to create a national sentiment in favor of increasing the navy: the opportunity should be seized to build up to a point at which war could be carried to ORANGE.107
This was the same ratio recommended by Knox to the General Board in 192 1.108 Through a small irony of Fate, it was to be the exact ratio needed by the United States to turn the tide of the Pacific War in 1943- 1944. 109 The Washington and London Treaties limited naval armaments; they were unable to curb the Navy's sense of its mission, and the unalterable definition of the tools necessary to its fulfillment. Kalbfus was writing in the floodtide of national, public sentiment against embroiling America in any future foreign war. The Navy mission, and the men who held to it, marched to a different cadence, and with a more certain step.
In just 3 years the degenerative slippage of the world order toward a repeat performance, in less than a generation, of its former folly seemed a vindication of the motifs of the Navy mission. Writing for the Atlantic Monthly, in 1938 Knox could write of "a world seething with a spirit of great unrest and aggression," as though the hostile forces of a former age were again gathering to threaten America.110 That same year, H.E. Yarnell, as CINCASIATIC, wrote a long memorandum for
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Roosevelt describing his plan for an allied quarantine operation against Japan. The coalition of Great Britain, France, the Netherlands, and China would be led by the transoceanic naval power of the United States. As Knox renewed the legacy of Darwin, Yarnell revived something of the spirit of America as leader of a world order, in law and warfare.111 When Standley spoke over CBS radio on 10 August 1940 and called for direct military aid to Great Britain, he spoke of the ocean as "a broad highway" for America in its intercourse with friendly nations; and, equally, as an open path for the enemy to blockade America and strangle its economy.112 In unconscious litany, he intoned the alembic imagery of Knox.
By the end of the interwar era, the image of the "world island," America, reaching out across both great global oceans to help its friends and hold at bay its gathering enemies, had permeated the Navy mission, and subsumed the traditional, the Darwinian, and the internationalist components that had uneasy coexistence for a generation. The image of America as secure sanctuary, isolated and apart — a peaceful New World removed from the turbulence of the old — had lost its last adherents. As Furer said, on Navy Day, 1927:
The United States is helpless to withdraw from the world and live in isolation, even if we so desired — It would be as impossible to pursue such a policy as it would be for you to build a wall around your community and live out of contact with the outside world.113
Even if that defensive perimeter were to encompass all of Latin America, as well as the trans-Philippine Pacific, it could not be defended. Rodgers' and Knight's 1915 vision of America's future had been recast on an external mold. Knox shifted America's perceived place from periphery to center. By focusing for a generation on both Atlantic and Pacific war strategies the Navy came to accept, and then to repeat, the outlines of a new world view. The Navy, at the end of the interwar era, had come to define America as the coming center stage toward which the world's conflicts would be drawn, "as to a cockpit."114 The Navy's perceived mission became one of extension: east, west, south; no longer simply to bar the oceans to the enemy, but to secure their waters for America's passage. America could not afford to wait; it must sally forth to meet the world on its own, transoceanic, terms.
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PART II
MISSION
Mission, between the wars, was created in "the mortar-and- stone"1 shell overlooking Narragansett Bay: the Naval War College. Within its walls each year, officer classes were offered a course in indoctrination. This, the indoctrination of mission, was the final stage in Command acculturation. An officer was instilled with a body of basic beliefs, translated into patterns of behavior that defined the Navy as a corporate allegiance, at Annapolis. Ethos was forged in its elementary, corporate form at the Naval Academy. Mission, the edge of Ethos, was tempered at the War College.
Mission, the ultimate abstraction of collective behavior in the pursuit of a shared vision, was reserved for future Command leadership. In 1924, Capt. J.R. Poinsett Pringle wrote:
The Mission of the War College is to assist in the training of officers for high command. The College aims to instruct officers in the principles of Naval Warfare 2
This was the official line, the public verse. In informal effort the War College achieved more. Yes, the course at Newport taught middle-ranking officers "how to" fight a fleet; "how to" estimate a situation; "how to" make command decisions; "how to" draw plans and issue orders; even, "how to" avoid international incidents
Beyond the Art of the Admiral, etiquette and estimate, Newport inspired esprit. Command spirit infected the place; the War College instructed less than it instilled. In transcending "training," the War College indeed achieved more.
In effect, the War College, between the wars, was charged with the evolution of Command identity, of escalation beyond
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professional world view. If the course could not transform engineers into envoys, gunnery chefs into marechals* Newport at least enveloped the student in an atmosphere of historical decision, redolent of moments when the fate of nation and of empire was laid to the scales. From war games to lectures on "National Strategy," from "The Estimate of the Situation" to the drafting of a thesis, each man was sublimely freed to fantasize of supreme command; for the first time in his career, urged officially to link professional identity with national politics, high policy, and grand strategy.
It was the education of the ideology of mission.
*Thus keeping Napoleon's promise that "every French soldier carries in his cartridge pouch the baton of a Marshal of France." E. Blaze, La Vie militaire sous /'Empire.
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CHAPTER V THE EVOLUTION OF MISSION
The indoctrination of Mission was imbued on three levels: three evolutionary branches developing three distinct, though complementary, species of naval officer. These patterns of acculturation evolved successively. By the end of the interwar era, they formed a layered network on which the War College student climbed, from lowest to highest branch. His personal evolution mirrored the evolution of education.
"Navy, know thyself"; so Luce admonished in 1911, in his "Delphian injunction."1 The basic branch in the acculturation of command was "the study of our profession — the art of war."2 This was the first great task of the War College when Rear Adm. Stephen Bleecker Luce, founder and first president, was the Navy's Nestor.
We are told the naval officer of today is a "fighting engineer," and this mockery of truth has been accepted by the profession. On this pernicious theory, naval education now concerns itself with the engine room and the battery alone. There it stops. Naval education now concerns itself with the training of arms or legs only. It takes no thought of brains.3
In an era when there were more applications to the new School of Steam Engineering than to the War College, Luce's accusation underscored a reality: the Navy of the early part of this century was a profession of the technician. In order to create "competent strategists," men able to command fleets as well as engine rooms and 12-inch turrets, Luce championed the War College cause. Exclaiming: "We do not understand our own profession,!" his warning was unequivocal. "Your profession is the art of war, and nature will be avenged if you violate one of its laws in undertaking to make a part greater than the whole." Nature, or
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the enemy. No wonder that he should cry, at the total subjugation of naval art to naval technology:
This is a total eclipse of the mental vision. You cannot even see the grim humor in it!4
First, the War College had to teach the Navy to fight: not as a machine, but as a military polity; a flexible force capable of shaping strategy to suit political objectives in war. War was taught as a complete process, not simply as a prelude to the climatic clash of dreadnoughts. The first, and necessary, evolutionary step was to teach officers to perceive of themselves as potential strategists as well as seadogs.
This was the lowest of the branches, but the most basic: the beginning.
If Luce was the Navy's nestorial figure, then Adm. William Sowden Sims, a generation later, was its wrathful Achilles. Returning triumphant from the European War, he refused the CNO post and the higher fleet commands and retreated, sulking, to his granite tent on Goat Island. More than he wished to lead the Navy, he dreamed of its reform. Most desperately, he fought to make the War College the cultural nexus of the Navy.
It is my conviction that the War College should be made the principle asset of the Navy . . . my convictions are so strong that I would urge that the needs of the College be given precedence over all other demands upon the Department, even if such a course can be carried out only by actual reduction of the size of the Fleet 5
These were strong words. Where Luce advised, Sims adjured. "Ships and equipment mean nothing," the modern Argive declared, without "brains," without officers "trained in the art of command and coordinated effort."6 Luce pleaded for more officers "to take up the study of the art of war"; Sims demanded "a definite policy that hereafter no officer not a War College graduate will be assigned to any important position, either ashore or afloat."7
As Sims sought to expand the institutional role of the War College, he pushed to extend its indoctrinative role in the making of ethos: vertical, as well as horizontal, evolution. In his conception of the Course, he included, in the subject list:
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3. The mission of the Navy. Which would include the exposition of the Navy's role as related
to other functions of the Government.
4. History as affecting the above subject.8
By 1919 'the art of war" and "the art of command" were recognized as the fundamental, not the firmamental, objectives of the War College Course. Sims perceived a higher mission for his service than readiness for, and efficiency in, battle. This was the intermediate branch: the forging of the identity of the naval officer as an agent of policy formulation as well as execution. Sims and the younger men under his tutelage, his "Band of Brothers," stressed the role of the War College in preparing officers for the formulation of war plans: the range of operational option that extends the contingencies of National Strategy.9 By expanding the horizons of America's perceived military capabilities the Navy would, implicitly, propel policy initiatives outward. In testing the limits of America's strategic naval weapon, the War College could seat the scope on the barrel of Washington's foreign policy, if not its political target.
The evolutionary mutation towards the third branch of the indoctrination of Mission occurred in the early 1930s. The officer to first insinuate this genetic watershed in world view was Capt. D.W. Knox. In his seminal lecture, "National Strategy," delivered in 1932, 1933, and 1934, he openly posited a revolutionary thesis: that the Navy should define "our national strategic outlook upon inherent national interests rather than upon vaguely defined policies."10 The Navy must become the dynamo of American strategy: advocate as well as agent and advisor. As he expressed his concept under "confidential" classification, he felt secure in skirting the behavioral canons of the political sector of the Navy ethos:
. . . there should not be any shade of disloyalty on our part in fully supporting the national policies as currently interpreted with due authority.
But I conceive it to be equally our duty and solemn trust that we should use for the benefit of the country the knowledge and judgment which professional experience gives us in regard to national policies. As an integral and important element in the National Government, the Navy is duty bound in the formulation of national strategy.11
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Not even Sims had come out so strongly in support of the political mission of the Navy. How well Knox knew of Navy leverage in Washington; for in early January 1915, he and Bradley Fiske, Aide for Operations, hammered out their joint plan for an Office of Chief of Naval Operations, and pushed it through Congress over the protests of the teetotaling Secretary of the Navy, Josephus Daniels!12 In his maturity, Knox was able to draw from his dedication to the Navy mission and lay his vision clearly to the future leadership of his service. This was the origin of the third branch.
Like wily Odysseus, Knox had insinuated the Navy into the conceptual citadel of national decisionmaking. The mission of the War College, and so, of the Navy, had evolved through three strategic tiers: from Operations, to Planning, to Policy.
This pattern of supraimpositionary evolution was reflected by the public imagery of Newport convocation and graduation addresses at each stage. Rear Adm. Austin M. Knight, president of the college, addressed the opening course for the Class of January 1914, at the watershed between the indoctrination level of operational strategy and strategic planning. Knight instinctively defined the role of the War College in the acculturation of ethos when he suggested that the course at Newport "aims to teach not so much right living, as right thinking, — from which it is believed that right living will result."13 This is a simple, but serviceable, demarcation of the education of mission:
What the College aims to give you, then, is not a set of precepts but a course of training; not rules, but principles; not action, but preparation for action.14
Here Knight departed from the education of the first branch, "involving instructive principles of strategy and tactics." He announced at this, the first full-year course ever to be offered at the college, that "we shall soon be prepared to furnish officers who can furnish war plans." In this, he implied that Newport would become the campus of operational training and, soon, the nursery of future naval policy: "Our hope is to furnish Commanders-in-Chief [operational] and Chiefs of Staff [preparatory] who will be well equipped to prepare such plans ... an output of officers fitted to prepare plans."15 An ex officio member of the General Board, and a close associate of Bradley Fiske, then Aide for Operations, Knight may well have
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put a double meaning to the phrase, Chiefs of Staff; implying that the War College would, in future, shape "the character of a General Staff." In precisely one year the Office of Chief of Naval Operations entered the Naval Establishment through the midwifery of Fiske and Knox. Not quite a full-blown General Staff, the new office was still the first formal agency of the service charged with the formal authority in the "preparation and readiness of plans for use in war . . . ."16
The second watershed of mission, from strategic planning to the formulation of strategic policy: from naval to national, may be glimpsed in the imagery of a 1932 speech. Intended for Secretary of the Navy Charles Francis Adams, the graduation polemic was ghostwritten by D.W. Knox. The address stressed the role of the War College in increasing the "efficiency of the fleet" through "professional perfection" and "teamwork." These objectives, Knox wrote, were "the indoctrination which evolves at the War College, is taken to the Fleet, and is further developed there."17 This was only a reiteration of the first branch of the ideology of mission. His argument for the role of the War College in the Navy mission was extended, when "we have also to consider the many political matters which have inevitable naval relationships."18 Adams, Knox's mouthpiece, then came to the central thesis, resonant of the reasoning in "National Strategy" delivered for the first time at Newport that year:
While the prime purpose of the Navy of our country is to support the national policies, it is obvious that the very formulation of such policies must require naval
consideration Naval officers must be prepared, as a
matter of duty, to give such assistance in the evolution of national policies.19
Knox reaffirmed the role of the college in the investiture of mission, this mission, from generation to generation of officers. The "mortar-and-stone" of Newport sheltered one of the key intellectual components in the maintenance of American global stature; for Knox, a "happy coincidence" that the institutional role of the college took root in the service "at a time when our country found its place as a leading world power."20
The role of the War College in the perceived making of mission reached its apogee in the mid-1950s. Capt. Leonard James Dow, head of the Course of Advanced Study in Strategy
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and Sea Power from 1953 to 1956, addressed the War College Class at its commencement that June. The imagery of his speech marked the logical culmination of Knox's vision a quarter century before. Now, openly and proudly, Dow put the concept of training for higher command from naval to national leadership: "It is not beyond conceivance that we might have a future President of the United States right here in our midst."21 No longer were the nation's armed services simply an integral eccentric in the machinery of policy formulation:
A nation's military power has become the panacea to be relied upon to settle all issues, A nation's military strength has become the criterion of its ability to survive. Military strength and war potential have become the stabilizers of the peace.22
The nation's armed services were now at the very center of national strategy, and "the men who minister the National Policy must thoroughly understand war and conflict, and the meaning of military power."23 In Dow's postwar equation, "military and civil leadership" were now coequal partners. If anything, neostrategic questions, those concerning nuclear weapons, had unquestioned pride of place; and, by implication, so had military leadership:
The United States has accepted the role of leader for the free nations of the world. Our military leaders and our statesmen must be properly trained to assume these grave responsibilities.24
So, the cresting of naval, and national, mission; with the War College, for a brief cold war moment, regarded as an Imperial Academy for Pax Americana. This was the product of an evolutionary process. As the college matured, its perceived sense of mission grew in sophistication. By 1941 successive generations had demarcated an expansive potential role for the Navy. The course of the world war but confirmed the gathering expectation, within the Newport-indoctrinated service, of its inherent centrality in the making of national strategy. When America made its metamorphosis from great power to global power, by inculcation as well as inclination, the Navy was prepared for the displacement.
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CHAPTER VI THE COURSE
In the War College Course — the lectures, the reading, the theses, the doctrine, the intellectual fraternity through generations of classes — may be traced the patterns of evolution, and the progressive mutation of the education of mission.
The Course was the structural center, the intellectual ironwork of Newport. Before 191 1, the Course lasted only some 4 months: the annual "Summer Conference." Stripped of the rigorous expectations of a formal term, the setting of the Summer Conference never quite shed the sensations of a seaside resort. Time was too short, the pace too relaxed, for the lasting imprint of indoctrination.1 With the coming of the "Long Course" in 1911, the chance for a comprehensive curriculum was created. The Long Course involved a few students only, who stayed at Newport after the recess of the Summer Conference in October. They used the extra 12 months for the study "of a much fuller treatment of the subjects included in the existing Summer Course," although it was admitted that the new course "involved no new features." In its 3 years of coexistence with the Summer Conference, the Long Course graduated only sixteen students, an average of five a year.2
Real academic approaches were not adopted until 1914. Then, by order of the Secretary of the Navy, the War College Course was organized into two annual classes, set to commence in January and June of each year. At President Knight's request, "officers in attendance were grouped in classes of fifteen each." The essential components of what would become the traditional War College curriculum were delineated by Knight. Fully six times the number of officers would benefit from the complete course.3
No longer would the granite, Atlantic-washed walls serve simply as a forum for the Navy's leadership, where they might come, with the General Board in tow, to tackle a "strategic problem" through a balmy ocean summer. After 1914, and
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especially after the wartime intercollegium of 1917-1919, the college achieved its primary mutation. From forum it was transformed into a stoa\ the college passed from an era of open dialogue and debate to a long period of rigorous, and rigid, instruction.4 After the birth of the War Plans Division in 1919, the War College lost its informal, though important, influence in strategic planning. Newport was no longer the "conference center" for strategic planning: the preeminent, though muted, operational function of the War College was removed to Pennsylvania Avenue.
During the era of the summer conferences, discussion of the "burning" issues of the day was the heart of the experience: Should the new battleships be given all-big-gun armament (1905), were armored cruisers obsolete (1907), should the Navy put in for battle cruisers (1912)?5 The annual "strategic problem" was the only real chance the service had each year to plan for potential war, and test the consequences. The watershed of war, real war, displaced this arrangement. Building programs and war planning became the prerogatives of an expanding Office of the CNO.6 The president of the college remained a member of the General Board into the 1930s, yet the Board was to lose much of its advisory clout to the CNO.7
In origin and in purpose, Newport was never intended to fulfill even a part of the function of a general staff. That it did so, in conjunction with the General Board in the early part of the century, was a necessity forced by the fears of Congress and Secretariat, obsessed with the specter of an American brand of "Prussian Militarism."8 As Knight observed, when War College president, there was but one proper role for Newport:
The College does not assume and cannot accept any administrative functions, since administration is action, and what the College stands for is not action, but preparation for action.9
How well the college could dispense with operational, "administrative" distractions! The sea change began in 1914; after the Great War, the character of the War College Course reflected a clear shift from consultation to indoctrination. In growing complexity, the evolution of the curriculum highlighted the postwar perception of Newport's role: the stoa of high command.
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Departmental emphasis on COMMAND, STRATEGY, TACTICS, and INTERNATIONAL LAW topics remained unaltered from an earlier era. In 1910, the last strictly "summer" year, the 4-month Course was a relaxed menu. For the first time, the "Estimate of the Situation" and the "Formulation of Orders" were introduced, "adapted almost entirely from the German Army system." This marked the first formal approach to COMMAND methodology. STRATEGY was subsumed by the "Main Problem," and TACTICS by a series of chart and board maneuvers played on the game board. There were eight lectures and five questions in INTERNATIONAL LAW.10 In 1919 Sims recast the "Staff Organization" from departmental emphasis along informal faculty lines to a strict framework of academic department and Chain of Command. The curriculum burgeoned.
COMMAND, as a Department, now embraced Principles of Command Estimate of the Situation Formulation of Orders Communications
Organization and Administration Principles of Plan Making Doctrine, principles of Lecture Course Combined Operations,
while the
STRATEGY Department focused on Policy Strategy Logistics
Scouting and Screening Chart Maneuvers,
and the
TACTICS Department continued to run through series of Tactical Maneuvers and Tactical Problems,
and the
INTERNATIONAL LAW Department expanded to suit the spirit of an age imbued with the vision of an omnibenevolent international legal order.11
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There were other gross indicators to measure the widening scope of the curriculum lens. During the 1936-1937 term, for example, the Class was presented 93 lectures, compared to the 8 heard in 1910. Compared with the single strategic "problem" and a clutch of tactical games in prewar conferences, the War College after the Armistice took up gaming on casino scale. In 1919 alone, the January and June classes racked up a total of 86 war games played through 442 mornings and afternoons.12 Four essays were now required of each student, a thesis in "Policy in Its Relation to War," in "Strategy and Logistics," in "Tactics," and in "Command."1*
When the War College reconvened on 1 July 1919, the academic mission was preeminent; the operational, peripheral. By 1922, the scheme of separate classes in January and June ended, and was exchanged for a unified annual term. This merger enhanced unit cohesion and association among students. Class identity was encouraged and this created a subtle sense of reinforcement and allied membership within an emerging high command.
When the first mergered class, 1922, matriculated, it numbered 45 officers. With the addition of a Junior Class, from 1924, class size rose to 75. After 1934, with the initiation of an Advanced Course for rear admirals and senior captains, annual classes began to top 90. 14
There was also a Correspondence Course, established in 1914. Two courses were offered; in Strategy and Tactics, and in International Law. By 1926, 31 officers each month were enrolling in the Strategy and Tactics course which required the solution of 12 "solitaire" games of war. Perhaps these "problems" were fun: commanding midnight fleets alone, in the spare time of a late night lamp. They were certainly more popular than the course in law; the legal conundrum attracted only four officers each month. This simple disparity is eloquent, in small but revealing insight, of the true passion of these American seadogs.15
The Correspondence Course was but one aspect of Newport's campaign of indoctrination, on a basic level:
The object is to disseminate throughout the Service what has been called the "War College Doctrine," that is, getting officers to think along the same lines 16
The college was beginning to reach through the Navy leadership. Sims' petition that the formal Newport Course be a
67
prerequisite of command equal to sea duty was given gradual corporate acceptance. In 1919, 50 percent of all flag officers afloat were graduates of the War College. In 1941, 99 percent of all flag officers were graduates of the 12-month course.17
Between the wars Newport was able to disseminate its doctrine; to shape the thinking of the men who would plan for and command in a Second World War. The instillation of the ideology of mission can be traced through the ideology of the Course: what these men heard and read and wrote and catechized and the associations they made there. In the imagery of the Lectures, the Bibliography, the Theses, the Doctrine, and the Fraternity of classes, can this process be again unwound.
The Lectures
These were the formal address; the oral inheritance of indoctrination. In the collective body of lectures given in Newport between the wars, in the patterns woven by the coloring threads of theme and topic and title, was the embroidery of the education of mission: the visual index, the most visibly superficial signpost, from year to year, of the thrust and weight and emphasis of the War College Course.
Between 1919 and 1937, 18 years and 20 classes, 742 lectures were presented at Newport.18 The fewest number, 10 were delivered in 1919; the greatest, 92, in 1937. The average was 41, and the median, 43. Compare this to the average before the Great War which, not counting the International Law course, was on the order of six per year. Not only did the annual lecture program expand postwar; so, too, did the range of subjects. In the summer of 1910, out of eight lectures, one was on mines, one on torpedoes, one on wireless telegraphy, one on engineering, and three on battleships and their ordnance. Seven out of eight focused on weapons and technology; but one single lecture, "The Navy and the Press," ventured at all into the twilight zone of the political.
After the Armistice Sims stretched the program to cover an annual spectrum of seven central bands of subject concentration: Policy, Area Studies, Weapons & Tactical Doctrine, Campaign Studies, International Law, Command Organization, and Societal/Racial Studies. Later, in 1926, Economics was added as a major concentration. By the end of this period, four of these eight areas, Policy, Area Studies, International Law, and Economics, accounted for 60 percent of the annual lecture program.
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Lectures on the subject of "Policy" comprised 10.9 percent of all lectures. From 1919 to 1927, Professor J.O. Dealey was responsible for the majority of lectures on the origin and extension of American foreign policy. Typically, one presentation would deal with the "Underlying Bases and Theories" of National Policy, one with a survey or summary of U.S. foreign policy, one with the Monroe Doctrine, and one with "The Situation in the Far East." Some of these addresses had a much wider dissemination than the War College in murus. His lecture, "National Policies in the Pacific," delivered before the officers of the Atlantic Fleet in September 1921, was distributed throughout the Service: 400 copies to the Atlantic Fleet, 500 to the Pacific Fleet, 100 to the Asiatic Fleet, and down the line, with six each to "All Bureaus."19 In 1928, Professor L.M. Goodrich inherited the Policy stewardship. He continued to cover the same areas as had his predecessor.
Beginning in 1932 the emphasis on Policy lectures nearly doubled. That year Capt. Dudley Knox delivered his essay "National Strategy" for the first time. Professor J.P. Baxter, a close correspondent of Knox, also began a series of lectures in the autumn of 1932. 20 The author of "The Introduction of the Ironclad Warship" delivered two lectures each term for the next 5 years, "The Objectives and Aims of American Foreign Policy," and "The Navy as an Instrument of Policy." In addition, each year, from 1934, Professor William Y. Elliott contributed yet another lecture entitled "National Strategy." This sudden redoubled concentration is significant. Before 1932, 8.7 percent of the annual lecture program focused on national policy. Suddenly, the figure was a cool 15 percent and remained at that level. In 1937 there were eight lectures on Policy and, remarkably, two addresses entitled "The Navy as an Instrument of Policy." If the Navy crossed that great divide, the watershed between naval and national strategy, planning and policy, sometime during the decade of the 1930s, here was evidence of that portage.
The subject band encompassing Area Studies was divided. One moiety focused on the Far East, with especial emphasis on Japan; the other embraced the remaining three-quarters of the globe. Of the 23 percent of the lecture program devoted to specific nations or regions, 11.4 percent, fully half, concerned conditions in the Far East, with especial emphasis on Japan. From 1921-1927, the era of strategic wrangling at the Washington Conference and the Kuomintang upheaval in
69
China, the proportion rose to 60 percent of all area addresses. In contrast, compared to an annual average of five East Asian lectures, Latin America could claim one. The British Empire, Western Europe, the Near East, and Soviet Russia each received equal emphasis. The exception to this trend came in 1931-1932, when no less than five essays were invited on the Soviet state, indication enough of the strategic implications involved in American recognition of the CCCP.
The statistical story reveals an unexpected trend. After 1927, interest in East Asia declined. From a seven-lecture level from 1921-1927, the Pacific slice declined precipitously to a mean of three from 1928-1935. Then, in 1936-1937, with the coming of Sino-Japanese war, emphasis on East Asian affairs quadrupled. In these divergences of concentration, world view at Newport and among the naval profession shifted perceptual paradigms: from postwar, to "peacetime," to prewar assumptions of the Japanese "enemy."
Professor George Grafton Wilson gave his first law lecture at Newport on the subject of "Insurgency" in 1900. He continued to teach International Law there through the 1930s. His presentations accounted for 15 percent of the lecture program, an average of six per year. Focusing on practical applications, Wilson still bore about him, decade after decade, the vision of an international order based on law: "the betterment of Mankind" through the agency of the League of Nations and the ultimate displacement of what he called "the Law of War."21 If ever there was a figure devoted to this ideal at the War College, it was that of Wilson, commuting from Cambridge, seeking the subjugation of war by law. For had he not drawn the petition, with Pratt, in the late autumn of 1918, "Proposed Plans for Establishment of League of Nations Army and Navy"?22
There were no lectures on Economics for the first 7 postwar years. Then, in 1926-1927, there were seven. The average for the next 11 years held at seven. During those years, Economics captured 17 percent of the lecture slice. Almost half of these were presentations on mobilization of industry and finance for war, strategic raw materials, problems of trade and shipping, and economic strategies in wartime. The remaining moiety was less structural; these were presentations far more redolent of the legacy of Darwin: "The Struggle for Raw Materials and Economic Independence"; "Economic Conflict and Its Influence on National Policy"; "Economic Penetration." Here were
70
harangues to reinforce a bold world view, as they echoed the imagery of Knox in his contemporaneous "National Strategy."
In the 1920s, only 50 percent of the lecture program was allowed to the subject geography of international relations: Economics, International Law, Area Studies, and Policy. During the decade of the 1930s, the proportion rose to 70 percent. World view, as it was instilled at the War College between the wars, began to acquire an enviable sophistication. The gray granite of Newport, in the visible trappings of curriculum, assumed the mien of Sims' ideal: an authentic university.
There are other signs of an alteration of course, a turning away from the appearance of a service trade school. Normal expectation would assign a substantial share of the lecture program to technical topics, to weapons and tactical doctrine. In the event, only 40 such lectures were delivered during the 18 years examined here: a proportional total of 5.3 percent. Three- quarters of all weapon and tactics related lectures were presented in the 5 years between 1921 and 1926, a time of ferment in the Service over the introduction and evolutionary potential of the aircraft and the submarine. Of those 30 addresses, 18, or 60 percent, focused directly on air and undersea "weapons of the future." Even Brig. Gen. "Billy" Mitchell, the interwar Navy's most dangerous foe, came to speak his piece. No, the War College under Sims and Pratt faced the revolutionary manifestors of new technologies squarely. Accusations by some historians that there was "no incentive to critically examine reigning ideas on the primacy of the battleship" are, quite simply, empty.23
If interwar emphasis on weapons and tactics was minor, the lecture slice for campaigns and battles was smaller still: 4.8 percent. Contrary to popular current cant, Newport did not spend a generation refighting Jutland and Gallipoli; at least, not in the lecture halls. For a twenty class span, there were only three lectures on the North Sea bout, and one was presented by a German admiral who commanded a battle squadron in that celebrated fight. There were nine Gallipoli talks, and why not? There was no comparable example of combined, amphibious operations for the whole of the Great War.24 The bulk of campaign analyses between the wars was handed over to world war continental strategy. There were twice as many Western Front talks as the parcel of Jutland and Gallipoli combined.
Then there was Race. Thirteen lectures were given on the "scientific" subject of Race. Cultural Anthropology had not yet
71
permeated the Navy world view, and so Newport missed a chance to hear from Boas or Kroeber or Malinowski. Traditional assumptions were reinforced; and the existential postulates of Social Darwinism remained uncontested by the Navy in an age attempting, in new-found enlightenment, to have them scrapped. The addresses of Dr. Lathrop Stoddard, from 1922 to 1936, had eloquent titles: "Present Race Conflicts in World Affairs"; "Danger Points in World Affairs from a Racial Point of View"; "Racial Aspirations as the Foundation of National Policy." This last lecture was delivered annually from 1931 through 1937. Other presentations, such as Dr. Garfield's "The Determinant of Advancing Civilizations," Professor Thorndike's "Racial Psychology," and Professor Huntington's "Relation of Geography to the Character of Far Eastern Peoples" were, in their own way, signposts demarcating the parameters of basic world view. How was the Navy's future leadership, its war planners and battle commanders and policymakers, to shed the racial biases of an earlier generation — existential postulates so deeply rooted and intertwined as to be institutionally invisible — if they were deprived of exposure to emergent academic disciplines? Throughout the interwar era there were no more than five lectures given in psychology and these were confined to the psychology of command or of propaganda. The new social disciplines, and Anthropology especially, were wholly neglected.
The distribution and shifting proportions of the War College lecture program, then, is a small insight into the intellectual objectives and limitations, of the Course. Far more cosmopolitan, as it evolved in Economics and in Politics and in Law, than in its prewar guise, the Course was unable to shed the unstated, the unconscious, set of assumptions that continued to limit the Navy's understanding of its world.
The Bibliography
There was less glitter in the reading. The lectures were public events, imparting a high gloss to the transmutation of ideas and the transmission of ideology. The reading was a collective, yet private, experience: an innumerably repeated, muted recognition. Still, the reading lists of the interwar Course remain and, with them, the dust-filmed folders of student book reviews. Unlike the lectures, the private discoveries went unrecorded; but those lingering archival fragments dangle tantalizing clues.
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In 1928, at the request of the Bureau of Navigation, the War College prepared a "Professional Bibliography" for distribution to "All Ships and Stations." Rear Adm. J.R. Poinsett Pringle, War College president, detailed a descending order of subject priority: Command, Tactics, Strategy, International Law, Policy, Current Events, Literature, Psychology, Logic. The bibliography was very basic.
Command was covered by the five popular biographies: Mahan's Life of Nelson, Henderson's Stonewall Jackson, Liddell Hart's Great Captains Unveiled, and Emil Ludwig's Bismarck and Napoleon. Tactics received the majority share with five works on the great age of "fighting sail," and six on Jutland. Strategy was subsumed by Clausewitz, Foch, and Mahan, and Policy relegated to text books: America's Foreign Relations, Introduction to World Politics, American Diplomacy. No mention of Perkins' or Pratt's just published works on the Monroe Doctrine and the Spanish-American War.
This was, really, a remedial course for those men who would never reach Newport and a preparatory taste of what was to come for those who would. This impression was reinforced by the assignation of coded numbers to each book: (1) for officers below the grade of lieutenant commander, (2) for those between lieutenant commander and commander, and (3) for grade of captain and above. By this standard, Dennett's Americans in East Asia and Hector Bywater's byline on contemporary naval policy, Navies and Nations, were considered beyond the grasp of junior officers; yet even these musings were no more than foundationary, if not simplistic.25
By implication, the War College felt that intellectual development of any depth could be denominated only within the collegial environment of Newport. Pringle, in this memorandum, was guarding a cherished monopoly of indoctrination. Outside of the Order, acolytes were allowed only an extramural glimpse. To become a part of the Navy's intellectual brotherhood, an officer, if denied a Newport billet, must begin with the Correspondence Course.
The reading at Newport, then, in expectation, required a ballistic leap in sophistication. The breach is revealed in comparison with the "Prescribed Reading Course" for the Senior Class of 1935.
There were 72 books in the Reading Course, three times the list prescribed by Pringle. Strategy clearly overruled tactics. There were no narratives of Jutland. Beyond Clausewitz and
73
Foch and Mahan the lens of strategic thought focused on the cutting edge of contemporary theory: Corbett's Principles of Maritime Strategy and Richmond's thoughtful essay, National Policy and Naval Strength. The War College produced the first English translations of the "Continental Strategists": Assman, Wegener and Roaul Castex. Allied and enemy accounts of the Great War were given equal weight and European diplomatic history was emphasized as much as American. There was an entire section devoted to Propaganda Techniques and the Psychology of War. Problems of Imperial Defense in British Strategy were highlighted, almost as a conscious model for the structure of American security.
Unlike the basic bibliography handed out to the fleet, the War College reading course contained a special section; its focus, the Far East. There were 24 separate titles, a neat third of the entire list, dealing with Japan, or the specter of Japanese Imperialism: The Influence of Sea Power Upon the Political History of Japan, Japan, Mistress of the Pacific? . . . not to mention detailed strategic analyses of Japanese defense lines in the Pacific. "The Nansei-Formosa Line," "The Guam-Bonin Line," "The Marshall-Caroline Line"; there was no comparable concentra- tion on any other of the Earth's strategic areas. This was not simply "higher education of the naval officer."26
It was a series of mental exercises in the preparation for war.
Not only do these reading lists remain, they are accompanied by the typescript of student book reviews. The Advanced Class of 1935, in addition to reading some 72 assigned titles, individually reviewed another 33. No less than one-third had "Japan" in the title. The next year the proportion was eight out of eleven; in 1937, nine out of twelve.
The "List of Books Reviewed" by the Advanced Class of 1935 contained another disturbing insight. One-third of the books dealt with Japan; and a sixth with the "Control of Raw Materials." The remaining were works with Racial and Social Darwinist themes. The titles, and publication dates, are redolent of the last century: Race Psychology, The Instincts of the Herd, Race and National Solidarity, The Rising Tide of Color, The Racial History of Man, The Character of Races, Emotion as the Basis of Civilization, and, yes, Spengler's Decline of the West. All three Darwinian motifs were in place, seemingly intact, not yet discredited. The struggle for living space was inherited by The Population Problem, or Population Theories', the struggle for markets by The Control of Raw Materials, or Raw Materials
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in the Policies of Nations; the struggle for racial supremacy by a plethora of "scientific" tracts. These, inalienably linked to Japan's Advance, Must We Fight in Asia, and The Menace of Japan, bonded the theoretical to the experiential, the historical to the expectational, in the Navy world view. The "List of Books Reviewed" in 1935 contained not one authentic history or ethnography. Implicitly, in aggregate, they served but to advance the legacy of Darwin.27
The reviews also reveal by implication. None of the "critical" officers atempted to write an approximation of an essay; their responses can be gleaned only from form and language. Spengler was reviewed by Rear Adm. W.S. Pye, later COMBATFOR and wartime president of the War College. He was awed by Spengler's density of thought: "there are probably not more than a score of people in the world who could as they read the book have a conscious opinion as to the correctness of his assertions." Pye was fascinated by the compressed mass of Spengler's thesis:
Spengler is the founder of a philosophy of history, from which philosophy he derives the thesis that — Cultures rise and wane in a manner similar to the life of an individual; that each Culture passes through phases corresponding to youth, maturity, old age, and death.28
Pye considered The Decline of the West a draught too rich even for the Advanced Class. So taken was he with its ideology that he insisted on filling 20 pages of typescript with Spengler's fattest statements. He could only conclude that "there are certain ideas which have a definite bearing upon future world-history and are of great importance to National Policies and National Defense."29
They were eager, open intellects, those officers who came to Newport in the years between the two great wars. Like Pye, they were ready to reach out and, as Renaissance explorers, extend their horizons beyond the rim of the known world. Some of these men had spent decades at sea, exiled to a world encompassed by decks of caulked yellow pine, steel-gray bulkheads, and sky and sea a nameless gray no paint could match.
Their training was unmatched in professional art; but in other disciplines they were kept in poverty. In gazing back from their future, one can only lament the meagerness of real guidance in history or the social sciences. For the Class of 1935 to have
75
missed the counsel of A. Whitney Griswold or Samuel Flagg Bemis, then at Yale, or of Franz Boas, at Columbia, was a palpable loss. In their place, officers were treated to year after year of lesser historians, or to such pseudoscientists as Dr. Lathrop Stoddard and The Rising Tide of Color, or they were encouraged to review Dixon's Racial History of Man, and type out long nights cataloging the distinctions between Dolichocephalic and Brachycephalic skulls.30
As a result, notional Social Darwinism still permeated the Navy world view; "race" substituted for "culture," and in history, slogans squeezed out substance. In this, both the Legacy of Darwin and the Lessons of History subtly conspired to create a sheen of inevitability: of war with Japan.
The Theses
Their writing revealed this trend. The interwar classes at Newport wrote four essays annually on the subjects of Command, Strategy, Tactics and Policy.31 For each essay, officers were given sets of themes to choose from and checklist directives of points to be made. In 1925, the thesis on Tactics permitted a choice between: Trafalgar, the Falkland Islands, Tsushima, Jutland, or a dissertation on the tactical employment of Air Forces, Destroyers, or the "Big Gun" in a Fleet Action.32 On the subject of Policy, officers were asked to "develop a National Naval Strategy," "delineate the interdependence of strategy and tactics," "cover the historical bases of American Naval Strategy," "investigate the concept of winning a victory with inferior force," and "produce original thoughts on the utilization of financial power in war, and the use of the Merchant Marine in the conduct of a war." These impossible demands could hardly be satisfied in a short essay. J.O. Richardson, future CINCUS, was so frustrated as to exclaim:
The student is so confused by the multiplicity of tasks, and by the realization that an industrious and gifted writer might, inadequately, cover the subject in a lifetime, that what follows can be nothing more than a few random ideas on American Naval Strategy 33
That was, precisely, the result. The student theses of the interwar era were poorly researched, unadvised, hastily written agglomerations of notional slogans and shibboleths; lifted from
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a basic reading list and bracketed by quotation hatches. Sketched to prescribed form, unchanged from war to war, these were not original works of scholarship.
In all fairness, in counterpoint to revisionist contention, they were not "canned."34 These essays, over 4,000 of them submitted between the wars, were sincere statements. Collectively, they reflected and echoed the War College world view and its interpretation of the Navy mission. Individually, each expressed a subtle, yet distinct, variation of a higher corporate theme. For every "canned," mimetic piece there was a thoughtful, incisive counterpart. A few even were passionate. Rereading them it is possible to test the mettle of intellect of those men who would take command in war.
As insight into the elusive ontology of mission, the Newport Thesis, especially regarding Policy, is key evidence.
In the 1920s the thesis on Policy was, typically, a discussion of:
1. Policy and its Relation to War.
2. Foreign Policies of the United States in the Pacific with special reference to the Far East.35
By 1931 the thesis was entitled "The Inter-Relation in War of National Policy, Strategy, Tactics, and Command."36 After 1933, this was simplified to "The Relationship Between National Policy and Strategy in War."37 These essays shared four common themes, appearing like leitmotiv throughout the era:
1. An orthodox and strict interpretation of Clausewitz as the foundation of the Service world view of war and policy.
2. A rejection of "Altruism" as the basis of National Policy.
3. A casual emphasis on the tenets of Social Darwinism in the struggle for economic markets, living space, and racial supremacy.
4. A vision of American "Manifest Destiny" across the Pacific and, within it, the paramountcy of an inevitable clash with Japan.
Each imparted trace elements of the motifs of the Navy mission: Defender of the Faith, The Legacy of Darwin, Law and Warfare, and the World Island.
So imbued with his vision of War and Society had the Navy become by 1919 that the Service world view could be called "Clausewitzian." Every interwar thesis on Policy and Strategy chanted his concepts like a litany:
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War and Policy
Strategy and Policy
Absolute War and Real War
Friction in War
The Offensive
The Engagement
The Theory (The Game)
The Spirit of the Age.
No student thesis failed to restate Clause witz' basic dictum: "War is an act of policy, a continuation of political intercourse, with the addition of other means."38 No officer neglected to paraphrase what has by now become le grand cliche. Many did not stop at incantation but followed Clausewitz to his more recondite conclusions. Not only was war an extension of policy, it was the arbiter of diplomacy. Given the American strategic situs, the Navy was the ricasso as well as the rapier point of National Policy. As Capt. T.C. Hart concluded in 1922:
Policy and War are most intimately connected, for War is the final and ablest servant of policy. Diplomacy is an efficient servant only when supported by Preparedness for War — which is really a part of war, and can win before the war itself begins.39
By underscoring the political nature of war, the officers at Newport never hesitated to link "the statesman and the warrior"; and the role of the Navy in policy formulation. In an emphasis on the intrinsic political function of naval force, these officers echoed something of the Hamiltonian vision of a navy as defender of American (New World) neutrality, American commercial intercourse, and American honor. From Publius' squadron of "a few ships of the line" to the interwar battle fleet, the Navy was a political instrument: of deterrence as much as of decision.40
They were equally adamant about the role of strategy in the schema of policy. Although agreeing with Clausewitz "that despite the great variety and development of modern war its major lines are still laid down by governments";41 War College opinion disjoined political arbitration from operational actions. They adhered to Clausewitz' injunction that "the strategist must maintain control throughout." Cdr. C.W. Nimitz, Hart's classmate, advised that political "intermeddling with the control
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of fleets can only result in disjointed action and possible disaster."42 How similar to Clausewitz' warning, that it was an "unacceptable custom to settle strategy in the capital, and not in the field."43
They looked to Clausewitz to define the intensity of a war. In his discussion of "Absolute War and Real War," Clausewitz admitted:
War can be a matter of degree. Theory must concede this; but it has .the duty to give priority to the absolute form of war, so that he who wants to learn from theory becomes accustomed to measuring all his hopes and fears by it, and to approximating it WHEN HE CAN or WHEN HE MUST.44
This logic drove Navy war planning, and the potential allocation of war resources, what King called "Ways and Means."45 They accepted Clausewitz' reservation that, "to discover how much of our resources must be mobilized for war, we must first examine our own political aim."46 Yet in seeking the engagement, and the decision, in war, no such fine calibration of a sufficiency of victory was possible. There was but one measurement of an objective gained, one guarantee of victory:
This is unlimited war. Measures short of complete destruction of the enemy's power of resistance may be sufficient, but they must not be allowed to confuse strategy. Our military preparations should always be directed toward the complete destruction of the enemy.47
A.J. Hepburn's 1931 thesis reflected a collective feeling in the interwar Navy. In calling for war preparation visibly capable of trouncing the most powerful potential enemy, the War College implicitly inscribed the first American doctrine of strategic deterrence. Going beyond both Clausewitz and Hamilton, the Navy defined itself as the mainspring of National Policy. By extending American interests across the Pacific, the ideologues of Newport projected the Navy's role far beyond the New World Sphere. By claiming identity with the continuity of Policy in exchange for the periodicity of War, the Navy inverted Clausewitz: policy was a form of war by other means, achieved through deterrence diplomacy.48
Those key concepts of Clausewitz — Friction in War, the Offensive, The Engagement, and the uses of Theory in planning for war — concerned with the conduct of operations, appeared in
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Policy essays. They were reiterated in full in the theses on Tactics; and through the rounds of war gaming, the staff and student solutions, they were the predominant imagery of all action.49 The inconography will appear again, at the ritual heart of the War College Course: The Game.
They looked to him, as students of war, as to the master, "whose philosophic insight into the nature of war is transcendent."50 They recognized his most sublime caution, the most constrictive limitation to the practice of theory:
We can only say that the aims we adopt, and the resources we employ, must be governed by the particular characteristics of our own position; but they will also conform to the spirit of the age — 51
The American public mood between the wars was simply opposed to the Navy's "Clausewitzian" construction of "The Relationship Between National Policy and Strategy." The War College was, in essence, a school of Realpolitik. Drawing from the model of the Kriegsakademie, Newport had, by the interwar generation, outdistanced the Prussian system.52 No matter how sophisticated the War College Course, the postulates of Newport's world view contradicted both the traditional, and the contemporary, American "spirit."
They rejected "altruism" in their collective thesis on Policy; yet they cast off subtly, by inference more than accusation, in muted tones. Cdr. R.A. Spruance remarked, almost wistfully, that "the foundation of American foreign policies in the past was always self-interest";53 now, as Capt. J.W. Greenslade lamented, the "idea of war as part of the 'ordinary intercourse of nations' and as 'inevitable as commercial struggles' has been temporarily banned."54
For the peace was, for the Navy leadership groomed at Newport, no more than temporary. As Kimmel concluded, also in 1925, "the millenium is still a long way off."55 In the year of Locarno, at the cresting of international optimism, when an informal international legal order seemed the surest guarantor of peace, Kimmel and Greenslade each abjured the prevailing desideratum: To Greenslade, "as long as there is Policy there is War."56 Kimmel saw war as but a generation away:
History shows that it generally takes a nation a generation to get over "war weariness" and forget the lessons learned.
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The present "spirit of Locarno" is due to "war
weariness
57
Nimitz threw out statistics to support his adamantine opinion. In 3,357 years of recorded history, he wrote in 1922, civilization had enjoyed 227 years of peace. In that span, 8,000 "eternal" treaties of peace and friendship had been broken. In somber voice, he concluded
. . . that the time for the abolition of war has not yet arrived,
nor may we expect such a Utopian condition In the
community of nations there is no court of international justice whose edicts can be enforced. We cannot therefore
neglect our preparations Until war is abolished, FORCE
AND RIGHT WILL JOINTLY RULE THE WORLD.58
There was no shift in sentiment during the next decade. King, in 1933, accused "our peace policy, based of altruism supported by sentimentalism (sometimes called polly-anna-ism)," of "depleting and weakening our own 'ways and means' of upholding and enforcing our national policies and our vital interests."59 J.O. Richardson was even more bitter. In his judgment, from his 1934 thesis, a nation would "resort to war rather than renounce its vital interests." Given this postulate, the United States, alas, held no external interests as vital:
On this basis, the American people are concerned only with domestic affairs, and have no desire to participate in World Politics or World Affairs beyond expressing moral sentiments and altruistic aims which they like to talk about and wish for, but are unwilling to support by force.60
The correspondence of imagery reflected a unanimity in naval leadership. By the middle 1930s, the U.S. Navy was in rapid relative decline. America's sole strategic weapon was rusting into desuetude. Both King and Richardson agreed that, even were the "American people to demand war with Japan," the fleet would be incapable of "western movement across the Pacific." If war came the Navy would be impotent to bring it to a successful end.61 This state of enervation was perceived at Newport and throughout the Service as the direct product of "altruistic," blind faith in international law and organization. In neglecting America's strategic deterrent, the nation opened itself to "the
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steady increase in global brutality, of terrorism and disregard for both life and justice." This, thought Capt. R.L. Ghormley, was "an age of dissolution," brought on by "the failure of the League of Nations": "is the characteristic of altruism as well respected now as the characteristic 'might is right'?"62 Kimmel's Cassandra-like warning was to be borne out after all.
The Navy world view was not rooted in Clausewitz alone; the most primordial network of existential postulates was rooted in the imagery of Social Darwinism. Interwar essays reveal casual as well as causal connection to Darwinian motifs. Greenslade,in attempting to trace the origin of national policies, compared the vital interests of modern nations to the elemental needs of the primitive family: food and shelter:
As the social organization developed through stages, from family to tribe to clan to nation and empire, so "shelter" might shade into safety, security, independence, and
political freedom, and so also might the term "food" successively change to substance, subsistence, livelihood, welfare, commerce, and world relations.63
This assumption of evolutionary determinism in human society was echoed on a biological plane. A.J. Hepburn drew from the social behavior of wolves and dogs the logical notion that "Animals may be observed to apply all the 'Principles of War.'"64 Without grounding in the emerging disciplines of Physical and Cultural Anthropology, naval officers of that era were forced to retreat to 19th-century catchwords to explain the nature of Man. Within this schema, modern, complex societies were driven by "instincts" identical to primitive "tribes" on the social, and animal "herds" or "packs" on the biological, plane. Their theory of the structural dynamics of international politics was a reductionist metaphor, linked to the assumed behavior of ancestral and animal groups. Capt. C.P. Snyder forged the connecting ring between natural and metaphorical selection:
The law of life has always been the same from the beginnings — ceaseless and inevitable selection and rejection, ceaseless and inevitable progress.65
These permeable notions encouraged a ready acceptance of a "Darwinian" theory of the "behavior" of modern states and advanced cultures. From this point of departure it was easy, even
82
comforting, to translate the contemporary scene to conform to existential postulates; on the nature of man and the structure of reality. For the thesis on Policy, it became commonplace to enumerate "the conditions governing the formation of varying national policies" on the basis of social, economic, and racial "antagonisms." Several essays, including those of Reeves and Nimitz, even listed the motifs of "Darwinian" struggle in that order.66
Geographic and climatic conditions were viewed as the determinants of national vigor and expectation. As Nimitz insisted, "climatic conditions of temperature, humidity, seasonal changes, prevailing winds, all have an important part to play in determining the physical and mental vigor of a nation."67 Island nations invariably "enforced strong international policies," to sate the "need for more land to accommodate increasing populations."68
Economic antagonisms centered around the struggle for the "control of natural resources and raw materials," of which "each nation desires a monopoly."69 "The competition among the great commercial nations" to secure the markets of the world was "becoming keener every year."70 The Navy had not yet discarded the antique notions of Hobson and, ironically, of Lenin, when they resurrected "the need for foreign markets to absorb excess foods, raw materials, and manufactured goods."71 The specious image of a dangerous surplus among industrial nations, a glut of goods, lingered on, as ineradicable as it was iniquitous.
"Racial features also have their effect on policy."72 A serious effect, judging from the prominence awarded this theme in the standard interwar thesis. Snyder cautioned that, "in arriving at policies, statesmen should be careful to distinguish between race as a biological fact and race as a state of mind!'11 As "biological" verite, the Navy's concept of race was predicated on two conditional postulates: that some races, if not innately superior to others, were measurably stronger; that mixed, or "conglomerate racial populations" were inherently weak. This ratiocination produced two normative corollaries: that the Japanese — "a yellow race" — were "virile" and "expansionist," and a danger to America; that "racial distinction" in America was approaching the "evil condition" of Austria-Hungary, toward a fatal erosion of national unity and national will.74 In their theses, officers reflected this sense of a shifting "racial balance" between the United States and Japan and this nearly
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subconscious notion promoted an expectation of a precarious ultima ratio of race; and an uncertain future.
If Social Darwinisn equipped the Navy world view with the language of behavioral determinism it was natural, then, to describe Japanese/American relations in terms of historical, inevitable conflict. Geography and climate created a "virile" people "circumscribed by insular limitation."75 "National poverty of natural resources" forced the Japanese into "keen economic competition."76 As a race, the Japanese were a "warlike people," endowed with "an irrepressible martial temperament," who gloried in "death on the battlefield."77
Overcrowding, poverty, and belligerence were perceived as the basis of Japanese national policy as well as national character. National behavior mirrored that of the individual: "Japan is frankly imperialistic and faces the future with the confidence of an ambitious youth."78 The atavism of the Samurai was a familiar theme in the interwar thesis.79 Japanese expansion: societal, commercial, and martial, was inevitable.
"We will come into conflict with Japan if she pursues an imperialistic policy."80 So Kimmel wrote in 1926, at the interwar trough in Japanese/ American antagonism. Even then, the policies and interests of both cultures seemed tracked to insoluble opposition. The United States could not surrender the "Open Door," the Philippine Base; nor could the Federal Government force California to recant on Asiatic exclusion. No one expected of Japan more than a gesture of restraint in the drive for East Asian domination. Accelerating through the interwar era, a developing dogma in the War College preached the historical inevitability of war with Japan. This was taught, consciously, and the trend is revealed in the lectures and the reading and the theses. The evolution of the Japanese "enemy" is the subsequent theme of this essay: an exploration into the imagery of perception, highlighted by the comment in Nimitz' 1922 thesis:
It is small wonder that Japan should prepare feverishly her army and navy for the struggle that is certain to come the moment she finds herself strong enough to stop by force our continual obstruction to her policies.81
Inevitable war with Japan was a corollary of inalienable interest. "The present interest of the United States in the Pacific is great; in the coming years it will increase enormously."82 This was Puleston's prophecy in his 1914 thesis. Between the wars
84
the United States stake in "The Orient" was treated at Newport as authentic national policy, genuine as the Monroe Doctrine. Commercial intercourse through the "Open Door" in China was defined as a "vital interest," as was the retention of a Philippines forward base. Seaborne commerce was the foundation of national prosperity, and the Asian market was clearly traced as the growth sector of America's economic future.83 From this perception, the Policy thesis usually underscored the Navy's role as guarantor of transpacific policy. Essays submitted during the 1930s excoriated "isolationism" from this vantage: theTydings- McDuffie Act and acquiescence to Japanese assaults on China would be disastrous, not only to American principles, but to American prosperity.84 As Capt. C.C. Bloch despaired in 1931: "Isolation will destroy us — our culture will only persist through
commerce, commerce can only exist through Sea Power "85
There was a progressive pessimism in interwar essays. In 1926 Capt. E.C. Kalbfus began his thesis with an exuberant paean, in spirit consonant with Whitman's "Passage to India":
It is proposed to outline the history of our [national] growth, because of its direct bearing upon our "Manifest
Destiny" The spreading of our national domain has been
a natural evolution Reflection causes us to believe that
this nation has been favored by Divine Providence 86
Just 8 years later, J.O. Richardson's gloomy vision of a contracting American sphere drew an unwilling finish line to America's westward movement. The Navy, he confessed, would never again be wielded by national policy as the cutting edge of transoceanic interest; never mind "destiny":
The Open Door policy is essentially a kind of intervention policy and since the American people are unalterably opposed to entanglement in European affairs, they will not
support entanglement in Asiatic affairs The American
Government has made such intervention impossible An
American Naval Strategy that would be in keeping with present public opinion would be a purely defensive
strategy The Hawaiian Islands would be a defense
outpost rather than a stepping off place for our westward movement across the Pacific.87
In his bitter sarcasm, he goes on to call any future naval building unnecessary, for the United States already maintained an "adequate" coast defense force.
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His was the only thesis to shade with such brutal chiaroscuro the contrast between the spirit of the Navy mission and the "spirit of the age." In their essays, the officer-students of Newport shared and defended a common vision of America. More than an aggregate set of values and postulates, this vision was a synthetic symbol of cultural passage through time: from America's history to America's future. Based on a complex cage mast of existential postulates, moral imperatives, and historical cliches, the War College world view preserved more than a sensation of naval role in American national life. The Course spelled out an expectational plan, involving inalienable interest and inevitable war. The central role of the War College was to prepare the Navy for this war, to indoctrinate future leaders with professional, as well as historical, readiness.
In the teaching of "The Doctrine," then, was the source for the concept of, and readiness for, this predestined war.
The Doctrine
Doctrine was the catechism of Newport. Sonorously chanted through the interwar era, "The Estimate of the Situation" was the incanted actualization of Mission. War College doctrine was the lubricant between the theory and the reality of war; through ritual, the training set of the collective synapses of Command.
Let us learn to think in the same way about fundamental truths.88
So wrote Lt. Cdr. D.W. Knox, early in 1915. This was the motto of his revolutionary essay, "The Role of Doctrine in Naval Warfare," the ideological red banner of reform raised in that critical year. In that watershed spring of 1915, Congress created the Chief of Naval Operations, and the Naval Institute put to press "The Estimate of the Situation." The Manifesto, the Command, and the Doctrine: a triple signal that the inert age of leadership heterogeneity was passing. Knox was behind all three. With Eiske, he forged an organization plan for the CNO's Office. With Knight, Schofield, and Vogelgesang, he hammered the framework of "The Estimate of the Situation."89 "The Role of Doctrine" was the manifesto for both Command and Doctrine: it was the Idea. Knox must be acknowledged as Chief Ideologue of the interwar Navy: in a single, short argument he
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redefined ethos. The Service was not a corporation, an administration, a set of ships and yards and docks and depots and barracks and bureaus: the Navy was a society, whose only normal intercourse was war.
They must learn to imitate the choices of war in ordinary patterns of thought: they must inculcate a methodology of decision. Collective thinking must become commonplace, so that any problem would spark among officers a spontaneous solution. War demands a unity of action, a common response to the chain of decision inspiring command. A shared process of decision is rooted in something more than a shared profession; it must evolve from a formal pattern of behavior: a military doctrine. Leadership in war flows from a common doctrine; "common doctrine gives birth to harmonized methods, rules, and actions."90 Common behavior means unified action, and this, the essence of Command, the equation of victory. Command is dependent on doctrine, and "concrete doctrine flows from a conception of war."91
This was his argument. His thesis was the need for indoctrination; his premise was that military doctrine, a pattern of behavior, was founded on a concept of war, an existential postulate. Command — a set of actions — is based on doctrine — a behavioral model. Doctrine, in turn, is predicated on a set of shared premises — "a particular alloy of principles."92
The key innovation lay in the concept. Doctrine was not the set of applicable principles: it was the set of "teachings which have been reasoned from principles; doctrine flows from principles as a source."93 This causal dynamic was established from principles — existential postulates — that described war as a progression of choices, a process of decisionmaking. To Knox, "principles" did not imply a categorical list of maxims, the cliches of a successful campaign. War was not a formula. The concept of war was the unfolding process of exerting means to an end. If war was a process, a concatenation of choice, then doctrine was the behavioral training for the making of decision, and Command simply the moment of application.
To translate idea into action, Command demands "common understanding": the simultaneous, learned reflex to a situation, transcending the transmission and execution of orders. A fleet's officers "must be welded into a body" by a torch of "common will." Organization was simply a physical tool; like the very ships of a fleet, the concrete expression of a common esprit.94
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Like Hobbes in De Corpore Politico, Knox sought in the human body metaphor what he called "the officer-body," the central symbol for his theme.
Organization cannot alone produce unity of action. It is little more than a bony skeleton which must be augmented by flesh and sinew and infused with spirit before it can accomplish its mission.95
As ideal, the leadership of the Navy would act as a single organism, infused with a single spirit. Unity of action — mechanical harmony — derives from a "common conviction" — harmony of will — just as in the Renaissance metaphor of "the body natural."96
Knox demarcated a metaphysical dimension to war. To a service obsessed with a notion of war as a series of logistical displacements, Knox created a metaphor for Operational Ethos. He seized the personality of the Corporate Ethos, the set of behaviors that regulated normal activity, peacetime administration, and made them subordinate to the Operational: the behavioral patterns of battle. By developing a mental ritual, a behavioral rehearsal for combat, Knox distilled identity. Indoctrination was no less than combat thinking. To define war preeminently as a decisionmaking process, from which physical action is natural outgrowth, is to give not only war, but preparation for war, a spiritual center.
The teaching of this doctrine became the nexal task of the War College. Formalized as a set of behavioral instructions, the doctrine was first published in June of 1915 as "The Estimate of the Situation." In translation from manifesto to official articles, the indoctrination lost the sense of esprit so enjoined by Knox. Operational Ethos as routine doctrine was transformed, like the body metaphor in Leviathan; to mere mechanism: an Enlightenment engine stripped of its Renaissance soul.97
As structured by Knight during his presidential term, the "Estimate" was a concise 18-page essay delimiting the process of Command behavior into a recognition manual for the elimination of choices. He described a four-step progression:
1. The Mission;
2. The Enemy Forces: Their Strength, Disposition, and Probable Intentions;
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3. Our Own Forces: Their Strength, Disposition, and the Courses of Action Open to Us;
4. The Decision.92,
By 1929 Knight's advisory sketch of basic concepts had experienced a metamorphosis. "The Estimate of the Situation" had been transmogrified into a rigid primer, including the formulation of plans and orders. The process of decision was refined to five steps: Own Mission, Relative Strength of Opposing Forces, Enemy's Probable Intentions, Courses of Action Open to You, and The Decision. The instruction of decision was starkly described:
Formulate your Decision as follows:
WHAT is to be done;
HOW (and, if necessary, WHEN and WHERE) it is to be done; and
WHY it is to be done (that is, invariably, in order to accomplish the Task of your Mission).99
What had begun as simple, essential structure of doctrine was reduced to a set of rote procedures. Knight's essay was a practical corollary to Knox's manifesto. Linked to the generation of Operation Order Forms, Battle Order Forms, and Despatch Order Forms, the 1929 pamphlet imparted nothing of the essence of decision: Operational Ethos. By the middle years of the interwar era, "The Estimate of the Situation" could be expressed by a "Diagram to show sequence of derivation."
There was little in this iconographic skeleton to inspire the spirit that must animate the framework of common doctrine with the conviction of "common will." "The Estimate of the Situation" was in danger of vivisecting itself, exchanging ethos for a corpselike formula:
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I. Relationship of surface, Task and Course of Action.100
Mission.
Decision. Purpose.
Task. What to do. How to do it /
Specific Course of Action.
II. Selection of Specific Course of Action.
Task.
Alternative
a b c General Courses
Specific of Action
Courses "What to do."
of Action
12 12 3 "How to
— _ do it."
This had been Knox's warning, implicit in 1915: Operational Ethos, or "Common Doctrine," was a process of shared reasoning; it could not be described, much less applied, by diagrams or flow charts.
The resurrection of Knox, and the synthesis of manifesto and of doctrine, was the achievement of Rear Adm. E.C. Kalbfus. During his first tenure as War College president, from 1934- 1937, he reprinted "The Role of Doctrine in Naval Warfare," and put the press run at the head of the reading list. For Kalbfus, the appearance of this essay marked a spiritual turning point for the U.S. Navy. In establishing its debt to Knox, Kalbfus declared in preface, the Service must grant that, in consequence of his idea,
. . . there is now, throughout the Service, a common conception of the peacetime objective of the Navy readiness
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for war from the standpoint of command as well as of logistics. It remains for this generation and for those that follow to continue in his path 101
Kalbfus made possible this objective with the publication in 1936 of Sound Military Decision. Combining the "Estimate of the Situation," the "Elements of Planning," and the "Formulation of Directives," the pamphlet stretched to 107 pages, incorporated and expanded the concepts of Knox, and so completely delineated the Operational Ethos that it soon earned the image of a scriptual text. Called for its cover the "Green Hornet" of Kalbfus, this verdure treatise was the testament of a society: the prescriptive text of an ethos.102
If the members of the naval profession have a common viewpoint, their reasoned beliefs may be expected more nearly to approach unanimity. Unity of effort is more likely to ensue if the operations of all forces have their basis in a common indoctrination whereby all individuals have been trained to think on the same plane.103
As well as he could, Kalbfus in this single declaration approached the essential definition of ethos. Sound Military Decision did not encompass the broad behavioral spectrum of the full Navy ethos, in the sense of societal corporation or abstracted mission. This was but the directive for operational behavior, distilled from the world view of war. Mission, within the context of command decision, "is expressed as a task and a purpose," set by the "ultimate objective" of the war.104 This was not mission within the context of cultural definition, the transcendental task and purpose demarcating a society's ultimate sense of identity.
Yet the Navy's abstracted identity flowed from a basic behavioral source. By exposing this source as Operational, not simply Corporate, Ethos, Knox and Kalbfus established the officer corps as leaders of what was at the center a warrior, not a bureaucratic, society. The role the Navy would play in American national society welled from the role of the Service in war. Combat mission in the defense of the State and its Policy created the behavioral point of departure for the extrapolation of a Navy political mission. Successful strategy in peace is predicated on the process of strategic thinking for war.
The indoctrination of Operational Ethos was the pivotal function of the Newport Course between the wars. War College
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training, even at the level of rote formula, was the hinge that saved the Navy from a regression to the 19th-century tradition of the Bureaucratic Ethos. Senior officers, like J.O. Richardson, who would lead the fleet on the eve of Pearl Harbor, reflected this decisive turn in their thesis-writing:
The Navy is primarily maintained for war purposes, but during long periods of peace Administration, the less combatant function of Command, acquires a dominant position. The Navy becomes material minded, and officers
become administrators rather than leaders The failure
to indoctrinate subordinates during peace may give us future leaders who will fail under the trial of war. The only time during the past twenty years when I have been conscious of any effort to so indoctrinate me has been at the Naval War College.105
The Fraternity
The War College has been the central source from which we have been getting our ideas about the Navy, as a whole, and that War College has imbued the Navy with what we call a
certain indoctrination It is the kind of spirit that was
maintained among Nelson's captains. It is said they were a band of brothers.106
This was the fraternity of Command. Beyond the sense of fellowship felt by all officers in the Service, those who went to Newport imbibed a draught of expectation. If, in some precarious future, an American Grand Fleet sortied to give
battle, as had another on that bright and almost windless autumn afternoon in 1805, its gray battleships would have them as captains. An American band of brothers, in association bonded at the Naval War College, would lead Fleet, and Fortune: an inner circle of Command, trained to lead in concert, to think and act as one. This was the transcorporation of the Doctrine; from printed ideology to living membership.
So spoke Rear Adm. Bradley Fiske to the Senate in 1920. His words are not taken from transcript. They are a reminder, a quotation from a letter to Fiske from Adm. W.S. Sims. This tribute, from the president of the War College to a retired senior and friend, is a signpost in the continuity of Command fraternity. In the larger naval fraternity, the transmission of the
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Corporate Ethos followed a traditional flow, formalized from junior to senior, from generation to generation. The fraternity of Command had nothing more than coincidental lines of association. Each young Telemachus had to seek out his Mentor.
Sims sensed, in this primitive pattern for the inheritance of Operational Ethos, the essential, ancestral backwardness of American naval training. If the Service were ever to evolve potential war leadership, a Command fraternity must be formed, coexistent with the War College Course. Membership within a Command Society would reinforce identity to the indoctrination of mission. Sims sought so to instill the need for personal membership in this Command fraternity, within the leadership hierarchy, as to posit a new moral imperative to the Navy Ethos. An accelerating recognition of this need through the interwar era made of the War College the perceived passageway to high command. By 1941, 99 percent of all flag officers had so passed through Newport.107 Sims' advocacy had inspired a moral imperative as strong as any Departmental regulation: he had his fraternity of Command, at least in framework. This was his enduring achievement.
The social coordinates, to create continuity as well as contiguity, demanded a fraternity membership plotted along both vertical and horizontal axes. A network of associations must be able to transmit, not simply maintain, shared values. A fraternity must preserve a historical as well as a contemporary identity; it must enshrine through living lineage the constant process of becoming:
It was my good fortune to be a member of the Naval War College Senior Class that graduated in June of 1923. Admiral Sims was President, and Departments of Strategy and Tactics were headed by Captain Reginald Belknap andJ.M. Reeves — both splendid leaders 108
So Fleet Adm. Chester W. Nimitz could write to a new president at Newport, Adm. Charles Melson, in 1965. As he gave his counsel to the younger officer, did he cast back for a moment to that first June morning in 1922, when as a junior commander he waited intently for the words of the great Sims, just as Sims must have, as a student in the summer of 191 1, for the opening lecture of Mahan? So this, the "vertical axis" of generational association, created an enduring process, which took strongest root under Sims' presidency and remained ascendant. During
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the early postwar years, 1919-1923, NcNamee, Pringle, Laning, held staff positions when Standley, Stark, Hart, Taussig, and Nimitz were students. Pringle was president from 1927-1930 and his student list reads like a battle report: Hewitt, McCain, Lee, Oldendorf, Kincaid, Fletcher. The Class of 1933, when Harris Laning was President, included both King and Halsey, with Spruance as a staff member. In 1934, with Luke McNamee as President, Richardson, Carpenter, Zacharias, and Wilson Brown were all at Newport.109
This is one way of tracing the lineal descent of the associations of the Command fraternity from generation to generation: the vertical axis. In just three instances — McNamee, Pringle, Laning — three proteges of Sims at Newport carried on his vision to a later generation, as future presidents. Some of the leaders of the Second World War era — Nimitz, Standley, Stark, Hart, Taussig — were in Newport during the Sims' presidency. Others applied for membership from Sims' disciples. All of them, all those who would fight in future war, carried from Newport to the fleet a small piece of Sims' vision modeled on the embryo of his own experience.
From this rollcall of names can be sensed the historical realization of Sims' fraternity of Command, shaped from 1919- 1923. Pratt, Belknap, Laning, Yarnell, and Knox were each a member of Sims' informal "band of brothers" in the prewar Atlantic Torpedo Flotilla or on his wartime staff. After the Great War, he brought them to Newport.110 They dominated their staff positions and left their stamp: Knox in Command, Belknap in Strategy, Yarnell in War Plans. Pratt and Laning each served as president. Sims took the personal fraternity he had forged, through North Atlantic gale and wartime diplomacy, and made of it an institution.
Men who had worked closely with Sims, Pratt, Laning, McNamee, Pringle, or, in the case of Kalbfus, trained under Pratt, controlled the War College presidency through the interwar era. The inheritance of Sims was passed down almost uninterrupted from 1919-1941. As Belknap, in tribute, wrote to Sims in 1923:
In any war within fifteen years our naval leadership would be in the hands of those who served under you at the War College....111
In retrospect, perhaps his predication should be recognized as prophecy.
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Even in peace, the fibers of Sims' Command fraternity began to penetrate the depth of Service administration. By the early 1920s, War College men were already beginning to dominate both the CNO's Office and the General Board, in another triumphant Belknap message to Sims:
Since [1920] the influence of War College trained men in the Navy Department has steadily grown. In the War Plans Division up to May last were six who received their diplomas from you. Admiral Rodgers, Pratt, Schofield, and the President of the War College, on the General Board; the Director of Naval Intelligence and the Attaches in England and France; the last two and the new Assistants to the Chief of Naval Operations — all are War College Men.112
In the statistics of association is no convincing evidence of comaraderie, the unspoken measure of a fraternity. Those personal allegiances, and private oaths, are not revealed by lists.
But there are some fragments of verse.
They were found in Sims' papers, a memory that "Blue Ribbon" class, the War College Summer Conference of 1912. With W.L. Rodgers* as president; sims and Knox and Schofield** and Pratt, and Capt. E.H. Ellis of the Marines, the Elijah-like prophet of the Pacific War, it was a class to remember, for their doctrine and their leadership would define the course of interwar Newport. How high was their espritl Witness
There's a chap by the name of Schofield, With two sides to his logical shield.
This shield's a doctrine
That's made of tough skin.
It is all of one piece
And is slippery with grease.
If you punch either side
The blows slip off the hide.
You can hit it a crack
On the front or the back, But you can't make the cussed thing yield!
***
•Author of the portentous memorandum to the General Board, July 1915. ••Chief of the London Planning Section, 1918; both predominant in Chapter IV, "Mission and Ethos."
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Why is Commander Pratt like a fleet of 50 vessels in a single column?
Because he has a very bad disposition for either attack or defense.
*#*
There's a certain young chappie named Knox
Who is terribly heterodox.
There's no tactical rule
That he don't ridicule; He's got something loose in his box.
**#
There's a frisky marine they call Ellis Whose ability makes some folks jealous
He's a soldier all right
But a tactical blight.
He can plot on the board
So your fleet's always gored.
He can hand you a whack
From a torpedo attack, And with gleeful elation he'll quell us.113
This collection of War College "verse," entitled, "War is a Terrible Thing," laughing at the idiosyncrasies of the "confreres," the absurdities of war gaming, the abstruseness of doctrine, an archival shard of humor, a forgotten document of fun; this pastiche of limericks, parodies, and bad puns is a central, significant evidence of esprit.
In laughing at themselves as well as their teachers and courses, they reveal Newport as more than a "happy ship." This playful "roasting" is the surest signal in any group of good fellowship: of confidence in shared identity, of reveling in the solidity of fraternal membership. Their humor was a symbolic expression of common faith, con fidentia, in their unity of mission, and in themselves. If anything, it was a kind of celebration:
What is the difference between an Estimate of the Situation, a Mission, a Decision and an Acceptable Solution?
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An Estimate is what you think
A Mission is what you blink
A Decision is that from which you shrink
An Acceptable Situation is always punk.114
A generation later, in 1925, the jesting out of class still held sway. "Slides Made By and Shown to Classes of 1925 U.S. Naval War College" had more than a trace of the prankish spirit of Annapolis. If these slides were ever slipped into a regular lecture
Joint Course, NWC 45-min. Silent Lecture No. 2
Glossary of Synonymous Terms Used in This Lecture:
Estimate of the Situation
Conference
Staff Solution
The Orange War ~^ ~ BULL
Joint Staff — - — -
Army and Navy Cooperation11
There is continuity here, too, and of humor, almost as though in the interweaving of the filaments of the education of mission: the lectures, the bibliography, the theses, the doctrine, the fraternity; they should at last be spliced in laughter, a starshell sign of success.
For Mission's spirit, and not its doctrine, drove these men. Almost unspoken, it left no files and no records; and its measure is yet beyond the storage capacity even of immortal archive.
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PART III THE ENEMY
By all the canons of American policy and American tradition, there was no enemy. The United States was a peace-loving nation; after 1919, by all declarations of the ascendant public mood, victory had delivered a peace-loving world. In the dawn of a new age, the very preservation of the concept of a national enemy was an act of atavistic hostility. Like the untouchable image of "secret diplomacy," a war plan with a list of dramatis personae was a Doric throwback to the Bronze Age behaviors of the prewar world: an ethos of arietation and inevitable war. Unlike the new Bolshevik regime, the United States after 1919 would entertain no principles of realpolitik, no "primary antagonist" to guide the formulation of foreign policy. But
To the Navy, the enemy was all. Before the creation of the War Plans Division, Newport spent its summers in the drafting of potential war "situations." From the early years of this century, America's oceanic antagonists were challenged and fought in chalk on the floors of the War College. Out of convenience and courtesy, the cast of characters was color-coded. The British Empire was RED, the German, BLACK, the Japanese, ORANGE. The United States was always BLUE.*
Between the World Wars, Newport no longer generated war plans. The gaming— the tactical and the strategic and the logistical "problems" thrashed out in a hundred sessions in the "cockpit" — was still the testing of Washington's war plans. In those endless engagements, to the thundering guns imagined in still morning light, the War College still stretched the canvas for the next war. As Belknap knew, the War Plans Division and the General Board were run by Newport men.1 Pratt called the War College "the home of thought."2 The Navy drew its sense of Mission and of Command from the War College, and war planning reflected the higher ethos instilled there. On the finished canvas, it reflected a sharp vision of the future.
*See Appendix I.
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It reflected the face of battle, and the mask of the enemy.
The image of the enemy was fashioned at Newport. Not only in war games; it was etched in each of the components of the War College Course. The image of the enemy was vital to the Navy: the oceanic enemy defined the Navy's role, its mask defined the Navy's life. Between Versailles and Pearl Harbor, there were two enemies: RED and ORANGE.
RED was the color of tradition, and of common blood. RED was the sentimental yardstick of the Navy's coming of age: to measure its growth against the wall marks left by an elder, rival brother. By all Navy allegiance of the heart, RED was like a family antagonist: the clashes of Anglo-Saxon battle fleets off the Grand Banks were rematches in fantasy from an old competition, with all the gallantry of Hull and Dacres at the surrender of Guerriere.
ORANGE was the pigment of Fate. As two destinies, two racial comets whose orbits must inevitably, intersect so BLUE and ORANGE would one day do battle for command of the Pacific. So many dry runs of this campaign, so many pitched battles in miniature, so many lectures and strategy sessions and Cassandra pamphlets that this became an unstated Navy creed. The mask of the enemy as a general scale against which to assess American strategic capability was lost. The mask of the enemy was lost to the thing behind the mask. Japan became the real enemy, in part creating, in part justifying, the Navy Mission:
Hark ye yet again — the little lower layer. All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event — in the living act, the undoubted deed — there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the moulding of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask!3
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CHAPTER VII THE CALLIMORPHOSIS OF THE ENEMY: RED
For the first American century, England was the incarnation of the oceanic enemy. In 1814, a British squadron had caused the Capitol to be burned. In two early wars, their wooden battleships had blockaded our coasts and reduced our marine. Duels ship to ship with his Britannic Majesty's cruisers streaked the Navy's folkloric tradition with unforgettable glory. The Royal Navy was the only external force able to disturb directly the American "way of life." The British battle fleet and its bases was the 19th century's sole strategic weapon: it was the critical chink in the myth of American security.
The Navy looked forward to the prospect of war with Britain by looking backward. With 1812 as an enduring model, Americans thought of naval strategy through ancestral lenses, like a Roman of the late Republic contemplating a rerun of the Samnite wars. British battleships would blockade American ports from snug harbors: Port Royal, St. George, and Halifax. Swift, powerful Yankee cruisers would sortie, broaching the Atlantic sealanes. This is what would have attended a declaration of war in December 1861, when the Admiralty assembled half the battle fleet to rush the northeast coast of the Union.1 Throughout the century, the United States never once attempted to follow Hamilton's strategic equation, to balance the New World against the Old: to create a strategic lever, a squadron of battleships built to sail as a single unit. America built many capital ships in the 19th century; battleships operating as cruisers. They never sailed together. There was no fleet doctrine, no training in squadron battle tactics. Strategy, unnamed, was unknown. For most of a century, America possessed in its handful of battleships the embryo of a strategic weapon and could not give it life.2
By 1815, the American shipbuilding industry with ease might have served as midwife to the birth of a strategic system. During the Civil War, the Union laid down 56 ironclad warships. With
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two exceptions, this monitor armada was little better than a battery of blockships drawn across a harbor mouth. They could not fight at sea. American industry might have launched a fleet to rival England's, and had the imagination but to apply steam and iron technology to the Jeffersonian vision, and a clutch of glorified gunboats!3
America was unable to discard the ethos implied by the Jeffersonian vision. For more than a century, the American Navy was built and operated as though this nation was no more than a fledgling continental polity, incapable of challenging the maritime powers. This was, after 1815, illusion. The stagnation of American thought on the strategic usage of a navy has an important context in this thesis. Nineteenth-century stagnation severely limited 20-century strategic thought. A primitive paradigm of American naval strategy, entrenched in the experience of 1812, stunted the growth of America's nascent strategic system. Even when the appropriation sluices were opened at the beginning of this century, the Navy was unable to employ its flow effectively.
When American battleships finally, formally began operating as a unit, in 1903, the Service passed the strategic watershed. Jeffersonian myopia was exchanged for Hamiltonian exotropia.4 When the Atlantic Fleet was formed, in 1906, the New World had its arbiter.
In the first two decades of the 20th century, the Navy's strategic vision was truly Hamiltonian. There were three common motifs between 18th and 20th-century battle murals. There was an identity of combat theaters. The American was the second fleet. The enemy was often the British Empire. War with Britain, as envisaged by the Naval War College in 1912, read like a passage out of MacCauley:
Twenty-two thousand troops are rushed to Canada, and arrive off Quebec on D plus 6. The Main Red Fleet, all 46 battleships, anchors at Halifax on D plus 9. Control of the Pacific is established by Red on D plus 31. A Red expeditionary force of 80638 assaults New York on D plus 26, and 79927 reinforcements embark on D plus 56. On D plus 30, 37782 ANZACs assemble at Suva for an assault on the unfinished Panama Canal. The Blue Fleet, inferior to Red by more than half, must avoid battle and blockade.5
Instinctively, the Navy accepted Hamilton's world along with his world view, and grafted 18th-century grand strategy, as
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though it were still living tissue, onto a world transformed, unrecognizable in its mutation. The scenario of the 1912 War College drama suggests a rematch of the American Revolu- tionary and Seven Year's War combined. "Black Dick" Howe anchors off New York with a fleet of dreadnoughts, and Burgoyne marches down the Hudson Valley equipped with Vickers machineguns and 18-pounders. The American Fleet, like Conflans racing to Quiberon Bay, flees before the British Channel Squadron. The curse of the Hamiltonian strategic equation was that it, too, was cast in antique images. Unlike the Jeffersonian, it was an outward-facing vision, posited - on strategic leverage, with a battle squadron as fulcrum. Yet it was poured into a defensive mold; its final shape was confined to the historical parameters of a world that no longer existed.
This was the pernicious inheritance of arrested evolution. When America and its Navy elevated Mahan to the strategic priesthood during the 1890s, one 18th-century model was exchanged for another; for Mahan was, at heart, an 18th-century man. He exalted in the struggle for empire, he reveled in the age of fighting sail. A naval generation was weaned at Newport on English battles and English victories: Anson, Rodney, Nelson, Howe, Blake; these were the Command models. England was the only authentic seapower: Tridens quondam, tridens futurus. In all paradox, Mahan was of more use to the British than to his own service. He created, within the American Navy, a subliminal sensation of maritime inferiority. At the end of the 19th century, having forged in steel the world's first economy, America felt that ambitions beyond the world's second fleet were historically undeserved.6
The first 20 years of this century marked the last resurgence of British seapower. Mahanian anglophilia and astounding British battleship programs linked historical and contemporary images of eternal English naval supremacy. Only irony can characterize the process: as American naval officers admired the Royal Navy, so they to that measure lost confidence in themselves. So it was with the Hochseeflotte, Britain's avowed rival. Both the American and the Imperial German Fleets of the prewar world were haunted by unspoken feelings of inferiority. The image of the Royal Navy was invincible.
This is the essence of the callimorphosis of RED. By transforming the image of the Atlantic enemy into positive form, from foe to rival, antagonist to competitor, the Navy was able to keep faith in its own destiny. As long as the Royal Navy
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remained supreme, the American Navy must aspire to the image of an equal engagement. Britain's battle fleet became the absolute scale. If the U.S. Navy could create strategic stalemate in a campaign with even the greatest navy
Hamilton had offered such a vision: a deterrent force, a defensive disuasor in a clout of capital ships. Using America's "commanding position," such a force would with ease "incline the balance" in the New World. What Hamilton urged in 1787 was fulfilled in 1895 and 1903. American battleships were the arbiters of the Hemisphere, "to dictate the terms of the connection between the old and the new world!"7
This was their limit as well.
By adopting a Hamiltonian strategic vision, the Navy described a defensive operating theater. The "cockpit" lay in the sugar islands of the West Indies, as in the days of Rodney, Hood, and De Grasse. The "key to the continent," Halifax, was but a day's sail from the legendary fortress, Louisbourg. This strategic seascape stunted the development of transoceanic seapower. Tabletop battles with BLACK, the Imperial German Fleet, invariably ended in reruns of the Saintes, 1782. As Bradley Fiske remarked, in 1915, transatlantic enemies "violating the Monroe Doctrine will come to us, and we will then have the strategic advantage."8
Only Japan and the reaches of the Pacific could spur the impetus to the offensive; and, before 1919, ORANGE was a pale hue in the rainbow of potential foes.
This pattern of prewar evolution is crucial to an understanding of the interwar mutation of RED. As a conditional concept of the Atlantic enemy, RED between the wars was the strategic scale in the measured viability of American security. Two perceptual displacements were responsible: the callimorphosis of RED, and the accession of the Hamiltonian strategic vision.
The process of callimorphosis, from 1895-1917, permitted the U.S. Navy to discard the image of the Royal Navy as a potential enemy, while still retaining the context of a strategic balance. As the world's strongest fleet postwar, the Royal Navy was a precise scale, a standard for measurement. By creating the positive antagonism of a school or family rivalry, just enough emotion was injected into the war gaming process to lend the exercise the patina of reality.
Hamilton's strategic vision, the yet unrecognized ricochet of Mahan, demarcated hemispheric security along a rigidly
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defensive sea frontier. The concept of the Atlantic enemy, whether British or German, RED or BLACK, was rooted in an 18th-century conceit: until the spring of 1940. A unilateral Atlantic offensive by America on a European or African axis lay beyond thought. A vigorous "forward defense," embracing the amphibious seizure of Iceland or the Azores, lay uncontemplated through the interwar era.9
Through the callimorphosis of RED, the Navy was able to wrestle with the challenging, if spectral form of a superior maritime power in game, though amity reigned in reality. The classical tradition of an antique strategic vision was in part a corollary postulate to the image of a BLUE-RED war. The U.S. Navy, interwar, was incapable of placing the fantasy of a sea war with Britain in the context of an Atlantic offensive. The sublime emotional weight of historical imagery could not be shrugged: the Navy simply could not imagine American warships in combat off the coasts of Italy and France, or even in the storm- gray mid-Atlantic.
"The Strategy of the Atlantic," as it was christened at the War College, became a ritual interwar abstract: of classical combat with the British battle fleet, off Trinidad or the Georges Bank. Yet as a measure ot growing self-confidence, the continuing callimorphosis of RED between the wars offered a series of perceptual benchmarks. For the U.S. Navy, it was a graph of growing strength.
Cdr. Holloway Frost was the interwar seer of "The Strategy of the Atlantic." His lectures at Newport on Jutland, and his briefings on the course of a BLUE-RED war, outlined the attitudes of his service toward a traditional foe. Beyond imagery, his analyses precursed the Navy Department's formal war plan against the British Empire.
"The Strategy of the Atlantic" was his seminal lecture, first delivered before the General Staff College, in the capital, on 9 September 1919. Frost's panorama was inspired by the first postwar suggestion of Anglo-American war drawn, ironically, by Americans in London. Knox, McNamee, and Schof ield, of the U.S. Naval Planning section, in Memorandum No. 67, were discussing the causes of conflict between former allies just 10 days after the Armistice.10
Memorandum No. 67 used the impostumate image of war with one's ally, voiced in his capital, as a rhetorical means of expediting the American battleship building program, then stagnant. Frost's motives were more dispassionate. Each essay
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saw the surest source of conflict in "trade rivalry": "Successful trade rivalry strikes at the very root of British prosperity, and threatens even the existence of the British Empire."11 Frost echoed the judgment of the London Planning Section:
No nation, which bases its prosperity on trade can exist with
a major adverse trade balance A nation doomed to
commercial defeat will usually demand a military decision
before this commercial defeat is complete The British
may be forced into a war to maintain their commercial supremacy, which is essential to the existence of the British Empire. No one could blame them for starting such a war.12
This is less of a Darwinian smear of "survival of the fittest" than it is an unconscious reimaging of the sugar and spice wars of the 18th century. Frost, Knox, McNamee, Schofield, the emerging intellectual leadership, tended to follow the steepened prejudice of the first Chief of Naval Operations, Adm. William S. Benson; as he, in turn, dimly mirrored the fears of the young Federalists. For 400 years, England had disposed a determined sequence of maritime rivals: Spain, Holland, France, Germany. Would America be next?13
Before the watershed of the Washington Conference, the officers of the American Navy paid tribute to their own, unalloyed image of the Royal Navy. To them, in lineal descent, the Grand Fleet of 1918 was envisaged through the same glass by which another generation awaited the Grand Fleet of 1812. The Royal Navy was something big, heroic, even immortal. The British Empire, flushed with victory, was a historical force. Like Frost, they knew the British economy was exhausted, its finances wrecked; American officers recorded Empire unrest in Ireland and India, they watched Dominion allegiance recede.14
Still they looked for the resolution of Pitt, the temerity of Nelson, to emerge from the adversity of postwar Britain. Surely Britannia would meet the challenge of Wilson's big battleships; if war ever came between England and America, surely the offensive initiative would be seized by the Grand Fleet. This was Frost's thesis: America could not openly oppose the British battle fleet, clotted with dreadnoughts, 42 to a Yankee 15. In Frost's war plan, the United States must assault and seize Halifax and Louisbourg in 6 days, Bermuda in 7, and Jamaica in 17, if our hazardry was to have any hope of victory. Were the Grand Fleet to arrive in the New World before the leathernecks
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had secured Halifax, then the campaign would be all but lost. Unless an amphibious blitz cut RED communications with CRIMSON (Canada), English shipping would soon pour a freshet of veteran divisions, hardened in the Great War, into the St. Lawrence Valley, as they had in 1814, to bring stalemate on the Canadian frontier.15
The canvas of this "modern" strategy should have been commissioned for Benjamin West. In the capture of Louisbourg, he could have used the first assault, in 1745, as model, with William Pepperall and his New Englanders. Jeffrey Amherst's 1760 campaign down the St. Lawrence Valley could characterize the Canadian campaign. How like the siege of Havana in 1762, was the image of American Marines assaulting the defenses of Kingston!16
So rooted was the 18th-century association of Anglo- American war with a classical combat theater, not even the spectral strategy of global war could tear up its tracery. As long as the British and Japanese Empires remained in transoceanic alliance, America was forced to plan for the gauzy contingency of a two-front sea war. The occasion of the Navy's first crystal- gazing into global war was, again, a lecture by Frost, delivered before the General Staff College late in 1920. "The Naval Operations of a Red-Orange Campaign," like "The Strategy of the Atlantic," was the conceptual text for the first War Portfolios of the War Plans Division.17 Copies of both were relayed to the War College from the War Plans Division.18
Nine months before the Imperial Conference informally ensured the dissolution of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, Frost assumed that in a war with ORANGE, intervention by RED was improbable, for the same cause that would scuttle the alliance: the hostility of the White Dominions. In a war with RED, Frost countered, "it seems practically certain that ORANGE would immediately declare war on BLUE."19 Frost had grasped the concept of a "Two-Ocean War." The context was fantastic; the problem it posed, prophetic.
There was a chance, then, to test, with 20 years' grace, the texture and the theory of simultaneous naval operations along America's sea frontiers. By defining Britain as the primary opponent, the Navy confined its perception of the problem to a predicate of associations of the Atlantic enemy. This process limited basic assumptions of the possible to a strategy of hemispheric defense. Frost's RED-ORANGE campaign was a replay of "The Strategy of the Atlantic," with Japan thrown in as
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a sideshow. Again, Halifax and Kingston must be assaulted, and Trinidad too, if there is time. The Asiatic Fleet is stranded to hold the Philippine fort, if it can, while the Pacific moiety of a divided U.S. Fleet struggles to hold Hawaii.20
Frost permitted an abject American defense. Although he admitted "that in the second year of the war the BLUE fleet in the Atlantic will be superior to the RED fleet," Frost was disinclined to offer an oceanic offensive. This is a paradox, and the essential historical recognition in the essay. Frost was perhaps the single interwar officer in his service most imbued with the "offensive spirit":
I hope that I was able to emphasize the necessity of our officers being infused with the offensive spirit; it is necessary that we develop what might be called "Offensive Minds" in the service; and to instill in all the idea of thinking about what we can do to the enemy rather than what the enemy can do to us.21
This plea for a combat ethos, relayed to Sims from China in 1923, seems to contradict the strategic spirit of his earlier essays. There is no contradiction. The truth is that, through the 1920s, the U.S. Navy was only slowly to cast off the hackles of hero- worship, and the still subliminal sensations of inferiority to the Royal Navy. In 1920 there was every prospect of a renewal of the Anglo-Japanese alliance, in name if not in spirit. Britain's battle fleet equalled in number those of the next five powers combined.22 His Majesty's Government had announced its readiness to lay down new capital ship keels to keep that margin.23 No Navy could match their combat experience, save the squadrons of the vanquished scuttled at Scapa Flow.
This incredible, indefinable moral suasion, what Frost called "an imponderable moral ascendancy"; this measureless asset was liquidated at Washington in 1922. 24 American officers, like Knox, who saw a vision of emerging New World naval supremacy dismantled on the ways, railed bitterly at "The Eclipse of American Seapower."25 They failed, in their anger, to see that something far greater had been given up by Britain. Having measured 4 years in blood to hold a historical primacy, they meekly surrendered with mere ink four centuries of strategic tradition. Ten years were needed for the U.S. Navy to feel the full fact of this abdication.
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This was the second stage of the callimorphosis of RED. The first, from 1895-1917, transformed the Royal Navy from an enemy to a useful and instructive rival, a model to strive against in game, not in combat. From 1919 to the mid-1950s, American naval perceptions of RED, the Atlantic rival, endured a deeper metamorphosis. Britain accepted the principle of parity with America at Washington. During the 1920s, tactical games and studies developed at Newport diagnosed from the principle of parity, the promise of reality. In accepting the implications of equality, the U.S. Navy impelled a metamorphosis of self.
The gestation was drawn out over a decade. At Washington, Britain was granted a dreadnought edge of 22 : 18 over America: a political concession to save the Lion's face. To American naval officers, this was a decisive edge; and Britannia had saved more than pride by treaty. Capt. J.M. Reeves was Chief of the Department of Tactics at Newport in 1925. His analysis, "A Tactical Study Based on the Fundamental Principles of War of the Employment of the Present BLUE Fleet in a Battle Showing the Vital Modifications Demanded by Tactics," for all of its tendentiousness, was stark animadversion. The thesis was troubling:
The foregoing study makes it evident that the BLUE Fleet as it exists today can not engage the RED Fleet in gun action with any prospect of victory. Every recent tactical exercise, or war game, at the War College has shown this in the most emphatic manner. In the last tactical exercise four RED capital ships were eliminated before the action began in an effort to give the BLUE Fleet some slight chance of victory. The result, as usual, was decisive defeat for BLUE.26
There was no skirting this assessment. In all battleline encounters between the RED and BLUE fleets on the game floor, between 1923 and 1925, BLUE lost. In Tactical Problem IV (Tac. 94), fought by the Class of 1923— "The Battle of the Emerald Bank" — BLUE lost all 18 battleships to RED gunfire. RED Dread-casualties were less than 40 percent.26 The only combat victory over RED was achieved in 1924: Tactical Problem II (Tac.lO/Mod.9). RED lost eight capital ships in "The Battle of Sable Island," and BLUE but one. BLUE's battleline was spared by a successful, and sacrificial, sortie by massed BLUE destroyer squadrons. A torpedo rush with such luck was beyond Scheer's skill at Jutland, and BLUE could not
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throw away dozens of destroyers in the hope of saving their precious battlewagons.28 BLUE must rely on its "primary weapon" for victory.
The capital ship was the "primary weapon" and, in 1925, "it is evident the BLUE Commander cannot win victory by means of his primary weapon alone."29 This was Reeves' litany of BLUE inferiority:
RED Vital Factors of Materiel Superiority
1. Superior Fleet Speed 5.5%
2. Superior Numbers of Ships 22.2%
3. Superior Gun Power 15%-230%
4. Superior Effective Fire 35%-400%
5. Superior Types of Guns 40%
6. Superior Thickness of Deck Armor 15
7. Superior Ability to Penetrate Vitals 4l%-81
'%
RED has superiority in every vital factor of materiel strength for a modern gun engagement.30
By Reeves' definition, the American Battle fleet was committed to an antique image of high seas combat, fought at short, stand- up, high noon ranges. Long before then, at long ranges, 24,000 yards and more, the Yankee battlewagons would be sinking:
The BLUE Fleet can not, under such a handicap, enter the fatal zone to engage in a gun duel and hope to escape. Once in the fatal zone the BLUE Fleet can not escape by means of her speed, nor fight off the RED Fleet by means of her guns.31
There was but one solution. Plaster the decks with steel plate, crank up gun elevation, and learn to shoot and hit hard at 30,000 yards. Between 1926 and 1934, New York, Texas, Nevada, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Arizona, Mississippi, Idaho, and New Mexico were brought up to standard.32 Shooting at long range was tested with West Virginia in 1925, using airplanes for spotting over the horizon.33 By 1937, Admiral Reeves, now CINCUS, could report with pride to the Secretary of the Navy that the battle fleet could smother the enemy at 30,000 yards; and that this tremendous reach, the power to hit the enemy in the "Outer Zone," was the "greatest advantage the United States Navy possessed."34
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The balance was tilting. In London, 1930, Britain accepted 1 5 : 1 5 in dreadnoughts, 50: 50 in cruisers. Perhaps MacDonald, in Washington in the autumn of 1929, wished to set an early precedence in appeasement. American officers sensed the immutable shifting of forces. Through the 1930s their service shared materiel equality with the old rival. To this fresh sensation was added then a gathering recognition of moral superiority.
America's battle fleet, rebuilt and reinvigorated, could now outrange the British bulwark by 10,000 yards, and sink them before they came within fighting reach. The reversal was complete. As Yarnell averred in 1930:
Personally I consider that the United States Battle Fleet is superior to the British Battle Fleet. At least I would not trade.35
This American Navy was losing its awe of legend. At the War College, regular reruns of "The Battle of Sable Island" were rescheduled for 1932, 1933, 1934 and 1938. In Operations Problem VI (Tactical), played by the Senior Class of 1938, BLUE lost four big ships; RED limped away with twelve dreadnoughts awash.36 The New World was testing its mettle. In the metronymy of naval supremacy, American officers were beginning to see the substitution of the Old World by the New an easy envisage.
From enemy to rival to ward: the callimorphosis was complete. At the end of the Great War, the American Navy was still wrestling with the figures of myth, celebrated by Mahan, that as Titans confronted a generation of Newport classes. What better emblem of assumed inferiority than the American change of uniform, ordered in April 1918. In a despairing protest, Rear Adm. Hugh Rodman, commanding Battleship Division Nine, operating with the Grand Fleet, accused the Navy Department of exchanging a "respected, distinctly American blouse" for a British "rig," "only to gratify the whims of those who want to copy the English":
I can see no earthly reason for abandoning our own uniform and adopting one that cannot be told from the British and thus lose our identity as Americans 37
By aping the British "monkey jacket," we not only paid homage, we humbled ourselves, genuflecting before a false god. This was
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Rodman's remonstrance, revealing, at the last crest of British victory at sea, how fragile still was America's emerging naval identity.
Even after Washington, the Royal Navy held moral sway in the minds of American officers. At mid-decade, British battleline predominance was the prevailing postulate throughout the service. Not only at Newport, where Reeves was collecting his damning data, but in Washington. As a body, the General Board solemnly advised the Secretary of the Navy that "the British Fleet has approximately twice as effective fire as our own at long ranges. We cannot assume a moral superiority. The more the question is analyzed, the more nearly the answer
appears to be a certainty of defeat for us "38 If any innate
"moral superiority" was assumed by American officers, it was assigned to RED. As the American Naval Attache in London wrote to Dudley Knox, at O.N.I. , late in 1923:
The essence of the matter may be summed up that the British have never had any intention at any time of agreeing
to an equality in Sea Power with any other nation I have
no hesitancy in stating that the British Navy has never been as efficient as it is today, and that the British Battle Fleet is markedly superior to that of the U.S.39
These passages shelter the latent, still strong, sense of moral and materiel inferiority in the uncertain imaginations of American naval leadership.
Reeves' escape clause, and the steady modernization of the battle fleet erased the materiel factor. MacDonald's submission at London in 1930 marked a receding moral tide: from myth, to the merely mortal. As Knox judged in March 1931:
The BLUE Fleet is now able to meet the RED Fleet on equal terms.40
Perceived equality was recognized at the interwar pivot. From there, for Britain, it was to be a downhill slide. Flaccid foreign policy, and a fast eroding strategic balance at sea, were seen as sure signs of decay. In 1933 King commented in his Senior Thesis that "our growth and our strength have virtually reduced
Great Britain to second place Truly, Great Britain must be
considered a potential enemy, not in questions of security, but as to matters involving our foreign trade, financial supremacy, and
Ill
our dominant position in world affairs."41 No longer a strategic threat to America, Britain was of interest only in terms of the conflicts inevitably arising from the transfer of power, and the legitimation of a new world leader.
American impressions did not improve as war tensions stretched. At the preliminaries to the second London Naval Conference in 1934, Adm. William H. Standley was shocked at the permeation of "Pacifist influence" throughout the British leadership. American armament, not Japanese, seemed the critical concentration of the English Camp: "It was evident from the beginning that the British were levelling their pacifist guns at me."42 The burnt offerings of appeasement did not sit well with American naval officers. Adm. J.O. Richardson spoke for his service:
The willingness of the British to appease the Italians and the Germans came as an unpleasant surprise to me. These actions . . . led me to question whether Great Britain could be relied upon to fight, with arms, for a moral cause.43
As their government "lost markedly in moral stature," so in equal measure did their navy. Procrastinative rearmament, so very ginger naval deployment in the Abyssinian Crisis, and naked haste to deliver a renascent Hochseflotte through the midwifery of treaty, disturbed American officers. The temple was gutted; the gods had departed.
So unseemly was their collapse that American officers, instinctively, began to revise recent history. How, in a single generation, could a people so willingly discard the naval instrument of their tetrakosaria of greatness? Had the Grand Fleet, in armistice ascendancy, carried within its bunkers the seeds of decay?
Holloway Frost's dissection of the last, whipping clash of battlelines — Jutland — appeared in 1936. His polemic, as in the Greek rrokefioo, or war, cruelly stripped the Royal Navy of its last tatters of historical pride. The appearance of victory in the Great War was a mask, hiding the shameful failure of the Grand Fleet to achieve decision in battle. What the Royal Navy surrendered at Washington in 1922 was the physical shell, without virtus. That ineffable spirit had departed 6 years before, at Jutland:
... a "Trafalgar" on May 31, 1916, would have reestablished British naval supremacy for a long time to come. Such
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ascendency depends as much upon moral as upon material factors, and the British lost that imponderable moral ascendency at Jutland. Never again would American or Japanese sailors be overawed by the powerful, even overwhelming force of British naval tradition. The sequel was that in 1922 Great Britain conceded parity to the United States . . . . 44
In the 1920s, Frost's judgment would have earned derision. The Naval Institute would not have considered publishing his massive essay. In the year of the Abyssinian Crisis and the Anglo-German Naval Agreement, Frost's big work was hailed by his service. He was historian, not heresiarch. He reflected the "spirit of the age"; the Royal Navy, and the empire it served, had sold its soul in the present. For this, it was damned in the past. Suddenly, to the U.S. Navy, H.M.S. "had grown old."45 This chronicle of callimorphosis suggests more than the sum of changing perceptions of RED. Callimorphosis implies a changing toward the good. As the American Navy shed its layered store of historical imagery — of 18th-century provincial strategy, of hero-worship, of instinctive inferiority — and looked hard at modern Britain, it was set free.
Free to believe in itself: as the best, the most battleworthy fleet on the world ocean. Free to contemplate its own, incipient ascendancy.
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CHAPTER VIII THE CACOMORPHOSIS OF THE ENEMY: ORANGE
In the No play of America and Japan, the second part, as tradition decreed, was played in full armor, in martial masks. This, the tragic center of the trilogy, from 1906 to 1945, was acted in naval battle dress. In the time of sailing ships, when America's only trans-Kurile connection lay with bluff-bowed, frigate-ported, whaling brigs, the navy of Biddle and Perry opened the doors of Japan to "amicable intercourse." With the coming of coal and steel, and the forging of two Pacific battle fleets, the scenes, and the masks were changed.
The cacomorphosis of ORANGE evolved within two perceptual spheres. In the world of professional behaviors the Navy responded to the slow estrangement of two cultures with the preparation of war plans: the dispassionate duty of the Naval Establishment. Administrative bureaus within the Corporate Ethos attended to the task: scenarios and contingencies ritually proferred to the policymakers on the Capitoline. This was the structural mission of the service, the visible role of the peacetime Navy within the Federal framework, the domestic mask. This the Navy wore in the performance of its assigned part, as it faced a potential enemy as well enmasked, each playing its role in the pursuit of antebellum policy.
Beneath the mask of peacetime planning, of managerial mission; beneath the formal face of routine role were the stronger features of subcutaneous identity. Operational Ethos articulated the abstracted imagery of meaning: the symbolic sense of self so central to the survival of the Navy Ethos. The Navy was a warrior society; distilled to essence, it existed for combat. Management was a means to war preparation, not an end. The Navy mission was not bureaucratic; it was Homeric. In peace this was easily forgotten, and this oblivion encouraged within the American political arena. To keep mission, and identity, alive, the enemy was made real. Beneath the mask of
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the enemy, and the Navy's public, dispassionate, persona, was the emotional characterization of combat. In the dual cacomorphosis of ORANGE, strategic planning was the cool medium: the mask. The escalating ORANGE war portfolio, through this century, mirrored in memorandum-imagery the visceral subcurrents of hostility, and the readiness to strike through the mask.
The Naval War College was the surgical instrument in this transformation of service perception: Japan's evil metamorphosis. Strategic planning for war with Japan began at Newport; through the interwar era it was the operating theater of the War Plans Division. In war game and postmortem analysis, Washington's plans against ORANGE were tested and measured, purified and recast. Newport was the laboratory.
War planning was the formal, superficies of this mutation.
It began, innocently, in 1897. A quick essay by Newport's "Board of Defenses" — "War with Spain and Japan" — was prompted by the Hawaiian crisis, and the tense visit of the cruiser Naniwa to Honolulu. This was the dim, embryonic image of the "Two Ocean War"; and a sorry tale. Japan's navy seizes the initiative, striking across the Pacific to Juan de Fuca:
... it is admitted that the Japanese might take temporary possession of Puget Sound for the purpose of coaling ... it would be necessary for us to abandon the Sandwich Islands temporarily and with our fleet fall back to the support of San Francisco.1
Here is a world view worthy of a minor navy; the operational ethos of a Scandinavian coast defense force. Even the president of the War College, Capt. Caspar Goodrich, offered few propitiations to the Assistant Secretary, Theodore Roosevelt, eager to "smash up" the Japanese Fleet. "Our marked numerical inferiority" would preclude an offensive into Japanese home waters, he confessed, and "the College regrets that facts seem to forbid a rapid, vigorous, successful war."2
This skirted simple strategic truth: in five decades of commercial and diplomatic intercourse, had relations between America and Japan been breached, both powers would have been physically hard put to prosecute a war. Without battle fleets and forward bases, even the stakes of "interest" could not have compelled a decision. Yet, ironically, this was the indivisible kernel that would defy the theory of American transpacific
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strategy, all the way to 1941. Japan would keep pace. Throughout the interwar era, the Battle Force and its Advanced Base never managed to merit more than gamblers' odds.
In 1900 Japan was not yet enmasked. Lt. J.M. Ellicott produced another fantasy scenario in the manner of the 1897 studies. With the American battle fleet gestating on the Atlantic, Ellicott toyed with the specter of a Japanese invasion of California via Santa Barbara. These idle daydreams were an outgrowth of general Pacific insecurity. America in 1900 held little ironclad leverage in that ocean; Japan was a useful yardstick to measure American needs.3
Before Port Arthur and Tsushima, Russia wore the mask of the Pacific enemy. Ellicott wrote a more serious memorandum in 1900 than his "Fall of Los Angeles" script. From Newport, he addressed the General Board on the prospect of a Russian descent on the Philippines, and urged alliance with Japan.4 Rear Adm. George Remey, Commander of the Asiatic Squadron, took the same stance in 1902 at the height of Russian-American rivalry in China.5 That summer after Remey's initiative, the War College "Problem of 1902" fulfilled this spasm of premature Russophobia with a complete "campaign." A "Triple Alliance" of America, Britain, and Japan face France and its Ursine ally. The war lacks zest, and Allied armies get stalemated in Korea around the 38th parallel, 50 years too soon.6
Mahan was the first to see the Pacific as the arena of naval and national destiny. When the Navy reflexed in the Venezuelan crisis, and found a new enemy in the German Reich, Mahan made instant exception. The Newport summer conference, the "Course of 1903," urged that the battle fleet be kept undivided in the Atlantic.7 Mahan, like "stern Achilles, shaded by his sails, On hoisted yards extended to the gales; Pensive he sat":
To remove our fleet — battle fleet — from the Pacific would be a declaration of policy and a confession of weakness. It would mean a reversion to a policy narrowly American, and
essentially defensive, which is militarily vicious The
American question, the Monroe principle, is as nearly established as is given to international questions to be. The Pacific and Eastern is not in that case, and is the great coming question.8
The War College was seduced by the mesmeric image of Teutonic ironclads striking across the North Atlantic, ravishing
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the Caribbean, violating the Monroe Doctrine. Prewar Darwinian imagery labeled a "virile" Germany as the new, emotional enemy. From 1903 to 1919, the Navy placed the Reich in the Hamiltonian strategic theater, RED's traditional harbor. Germany wore the mask, in the sinister code-color: BLACK. Monroe was still stronger than Mahan, and Atlantic iconography still held sway in Service world view.9
Diplomatic crisis with Japan led to rushed war planning at Newport; and the first Pacific War Portfolio, ORANGE, was codified by 191 1.10 This was important: before 1919, the Atlantic Enemy, calligenic (RED) and cacogenic (BLACK), was predominant. Japan was still an exercise, not an enemy.
In sudden recognition, at the end of the Great War, the Navy was confronted with the operational specter of a Pacific war. What had been a contingency without seniority between 1907 and 1917 became, even as they sprinkled sand on the Versailles Treaty, the conditional priority of the next war. No longer in the process of becoming, Mahan's "question" had arrived.
In 1906 war postulates against ORANGE held a leisurely pace. Without the Panama Canal, the itinerary of war opposed a vigorous timetable. The "Conference of 1906, Solution of Problem" was the War College document that spawned the General Board's advisory plan: cryptically entitled, "In Case of Strained Relations with Japan."11 A curious prescriptive. Battle strategy is reduced to three pages, listed in recitation like the "principles of war" from an academy text. The long journey of the BLUE battle fleet, to battle rendezvous off the Trojan shore, needs forty.12
Like Rojestvenskiy's fated fleet, the U.S. "Combined Fleet" was to steam bravely out of Chesapeake Bay, make for Morocco, then the Mediterranean, then the Red Sea, the Arabian Sea, the Indian Ocean, the Java Sea, and, at last, the Macassar Straits and the gateway to Mindanao. After 87.64 days and 220,994 tons of coal, a tired fleet, in narrow straits, making for a beleaguered base, would face the fresh ironclads of ORANGE, confident ship-killers, cleared for action.13
Now that America had her own imperial jewels in the Orient — the Philippines — more than commercial interests called for transpacific suasion. An interservice "Joint Committee," incorporating officers from the Army General Staff and the Naval War College, strove to solve the conundrum of a successful war. Their assessment of the "Special Situation" was bleak:
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When the United States Force shall have arrived [in the Philippines] it will have no home coal mines and no naval
base in those waters The Japanese should be able to
approximate equality in numbers "Command of the
Sea" will thus not be established the moment our Atlantic
Fleet reaches the Philippines Our situation will be well
nigh desperate 14
Sailing around the world to relieve the Philippines was an operational exercise with a single virtue: it offered the promise of a short war. Before 1919 Manila was not worth a long mass. All would be well, the Joint Committee concluded, were America but to carve a fortified base by Subic Bay, strong enough to hold out for 3 months, and the weary Atlantic Fleet. If only "Subic Bay can be defended to the last," the war could be quickly, painlessly, won.13 Mahan's single bitter reply:
That we should have a stronghold impregnable as Port Arthur Absit omen!
The omen would not be heeded. A short-war illusion lingered on into the interwar era. Even when ORANGE donned the mask of the primary enemy, planning still echoed hopes for quick conflict. The vastness of the Pacific could not yet be tamed by Victorian technology. Manila was close to Japan; the Main American fleet was in the gray Atlantic, half a world away. A coal-stoking, triple expansion navy could not hope to rescue an embattled base on Luzon. This was the hard truth:
The BLUE Fleet, arriving at Manila via Suez . . . would be expended. That would end the war. If we call the time three months, the route via Suez means a short war, totally unsuccessful for BLUE.16
Through the 1930s many hardly relished the alternative.
A long, grimy war, island to island, across the Pacific. A nice, fastidious campaign, in image more a sortie than a siege; capped by a sharp, climatic engagement: this was the desideratum of domestic politics. Those policymakers constitutionally charged with the defense of America's Pacific spoils prayed for an easy defense. A long war was an expensive fantasy. There were too many unjustifiable preparations to protracted conflict. Spasmodic scenarios were attractive, and cheap; it was
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"sensible" security. In the narrative evolution of war planning and the cacomorphosis of ORANGE, such subtle pressure shaded the perceptions of American officers. In high command, there was never an absolute standard of war readiness, or in national security, as J.O. Richardson discovered on the eve of Pearl Harbor.17
When Cdr. J.H. Oliver, in a short memorandum to the
president of the Naval War College, 20 April 1907, forecast the true axis of the future Pacific War, he offered no more than "blood, tears, toil, and sweat":
Upon the outbreak of war in our present state of unpreparedness, we must regard our oversea Pacific possessions as temporarily lost, and proceed resolutely to their re-conquest . . . through advance across the Pacific upon a broad strategic front. The initial loss must not deflect our true course.18
Four years later, 15 March 1911, Rear Adm. R.P. Rodgers, then president of the War College, adopted this approach in the first full, formal war plan for ORANGE. Newport's "Strategic Plan of Campaign Against ORANGE" was simple, and remained all but unchanged for 30 years:
— The Fleet would sortie from Hawaii, and anchor
at the end of the line: Okinawa. — The axis of advance would cut the Central
Pacific, and incur the island-hopping seizure
of the Marshalls and Carolines. — Manila would be re-captured. — The Fleet would hike out with its own, mobile,
advanced base. — Japan would be brought to its knees through
blockade: economic strangulation.19
There would be no short war; there was no certainty even of a climatic, setpiece sea battle: aTrafalgar-like'decision. Drawn on a canvas of early dreadnought technology, sans radar, sans Zero, sans B-29; it was a remarkable picture of "the shape of things to come." Rodgers even suggested, in clairvoyance of Nimitz, "that BLUE forces should be employed in the capture of the Lu Chu Islands [Okinawa], and the reduction of the Pescadores [Formosa] than to begin extensive land operations for the recapture of Luzon."20
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When, in 1919, Japan became the primary antagonist, the notional components of a transpacific offensive and a prolonged naval war were set and solidified. The endless interwar analysis of the ORANGE Plan was file and brush work: a polish job. In 1911 war with Japan was imaged on a realistic operational procedure. The reworking, step by step, over the succeeding 30 years did not improve the basic plan. Conditions changed. Advancing battle technology was an incremental bonus; the Washington Treaty, a premature handicap a generation before the race. Continuity of concept was never broken. Through 30 years, an entire society of officers passed through Newport and faithfully memorized the vision of the ORANGE Plan. Modern revisionists claim that this was not "creative."21 They scoff at Nimitz' tribute to Newport's indoctrination of ORANGE: "... the courses were so thorough that after the start of WWII nothing that happened in the Pacific was strange or unexpected."22 They should read Rodgers' prophetic picture, one he never lived to see. Those others at Newport that year, who worked in the drafting of that first plan — Sims, Pratt, Oliver, Schofield, W.L. Rodgers, and Mahan — were also dead, or too old for command in that far future war. The strategy they shaped, and the mission that drove them all, they transmitted, from Mahan's 19th-century premonition, from generation to generation, to ultimate, startling reality.23
The permeation of the 1911 plan can be traced through time and through the naval society.
Between 1914 and 1920, the Navy accepted the initial fall of the Philippines. As Bradley Fiske admonished Josephus Daniels in 1914, "we cannot prevent the Japs from taking the Philippines."24 In 1920 Sims told Daniels that the War College "has long held that the retention of Manila Bay cannot be counted on and that any plans based on its retention are in error."25
The concept of a complete, self-contained mobile base, capable of drydocking and fleet repair of capital ships, was pioneered by Knox and Furer at Newport in 192 1.26 By the end of 1927, a "Synopsis of a Preliminary Technical Study — Basic Orange Plan, Advanced Base." This, the fabulous "Western Base," was to encompass 17 floating docks, 3 miles of piers, three 125-ton cranes, 500,000 tons of fuel oil, 4,000 hospital beds, and 37,600 officers and men.27
Strangulation of the home islands was the agreed objective of operations by the 1930s. "The influence of ORANGE Economic
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Factors on BLUE's Strategy in War" was developed by the ORANGE Economic Committee at the War College in 1933. In this prescient memorandum, Okinawa is the key to the blockade of Japan. To cut ORANGE trade by 80 percent, "Okinawa must be taken."28
Short war serendipity died hard. "Strategic Problem — Pacific" was drawn up late in 1916, at the request of Secretary Daniels. After the passage of the 1916 Naval Building Program, and before the Washington Conference, it was easy to fantasize of a powerfully fortified Philippine base and of an awesome American armada, 60 capital ships, 84 cruisers, 199 destroyers, steaming the breadth of the Pacific as a body, a juggernaut of dreadnoughts.29 Treaty restrictions in 1922 stripped this illusion. By the early 1920s, Sims, Fiske, Frost, and Yarnell were speaking at Newport of a war of 2 to 4 years. Fiske thought it would cost more in blood and treasure than the recent "Great War."30 Yarnell's vision of war hardly changed through 20 years. As CINCASIATIC, he wrote to CNO in 1938: "The war will be a naval one of long duration "31
By the mid- 1930s, studies at Newport insistently confirmed that, in a short, spasmodic war, with the BLUE battle fleet rushing to Manila, "success is not only uncertain but is actually unlikely." War with ORANGE required a massive concentration, and a deliberate offensive, like rolling thunder:
Success is practically certain provided the war effort is maintained through the period of at least three years which would be required before the Fleet could reach the Western Pacific.32
History kept to this schedule. Marines landed at Leyte almost 3 years to the day after Pearl Harbor.
In the heyday of "Navy Basic Plan ORANGE, WPL-8-16," 1929 to 1938, the pioneering postulates of 1911 were spun into an 800-page operational code.33 The ORANGE Plan was the instrumentality of ethos. If Operational Ethos extracted from the embracing Corporate Ethos of the Navy Society its sense of abstracted mission, of ultimate identity, then the ORANGE Plan was the talmudic text of mission. WPL-8 and its successors corporealized mission: from unstated, sensated vision of the Navy's role in the making of national policy to the dim imagery of national destiny, the massive, all-consuming, all-contingent tracery of directive made of the word, law:
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NATIONAL MISSION: To impose the will of the UNITED STATES upon ORANGE by destroying ORANGE Armed Forces and by disrupting ORANGE economic life
MISSION FOR THE NAVY: To gain and to exercise command of the sea, and to operate offensively against ORANGE . . . . 34
WPL-8, the mask of the Japanese enemy, created a set of enduring postulates that defined not only the context and texture of the next war but that, in and of themselves, inspired an encompassing expectation of future war with Japan. More than this, even, the ORANGE Plan generated, in the irrevocable weight of SECRET text and the ritual acting-out of a thousand war games, an escalating imagery of tradition. Japan became agent as well as enemy. The longer that Japan wore the mask, the more generational tiers within the Navy Society simultaneously shared the essential postulation. From 1911 to 1941, incremental layers of officer classes, from admiral to ensign, held the world view of the ORANGE Plan. The Commanders of '41 had spent their entire professional lives preparing to enact THE MISSION:
War with Japan. National Mission was then indivisible from the defeat of ORANGE. National Destiny, like the mask of the enemy, was an image transformed. The Atlantic enemy, the Hamiltonian strategic theater, the defense of the New World; these had been the inseparable shibboleths of the U.S. Navy. They conscribed the traditional world. After 1919 the old slogans were discarded. Over 30 years, the hallucinogenic sway of Pacific war planning conjured an expectational tradition. So intense was the concentration on ORANGE, so hypnotic was the ritual rehearsal, repeated in unnumbered war games at Newport, that historical reality flowed naturally, effortlessly, necessarily.
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CHAPTER IX
BEHIND THE MASK
Late in the year 1901 Rear Adm. Stephen B. Luce wrote to the Minister of the Imperial Japanese Navy, Vice Adm. Yamamoto Gombei. He, the Grand Old Man of the U.S. Navy, had enclosed two cracked and faded daguerrotypes, the substance of a memory: the first formal visitation of Americans to Japan. They were the images of the sailing battleship Columbus and the sloop-of-war Vincennes, commanded in 1846 by Commodore James Biddle:
Crude though they may be, they commemorate the initial step in the series of international events which may have led to the friendly relations now so happily existing between the two countries. As such, I trust they may be accepted from one who had the honor of serving, as a midshipman, under Commodore Biddle, on that occasion; and who was then deeply impressed with the high character and noble bearing of the Japanese.1
In 1900 a survey of Japan commissioned by the Naval War College did not spare praise for the Japanese, who "possess the characteristics of courage, endurance, intelligence and patriotism."2 Two years later the Newport summer conference even encouraged the vision of a "Triple Alliance" of the United States with Great Britain and Japan.3
How far had the passage of mutual relations descended that, in early January 1939, Yarnell, As CINCASIATIC, would write to the president of the War College, of another Japan:
Their mission is to impose their culture and domination on the world. This is to be done by force. They worship the sword and rely on it to fulfill their destiny .... When there are nations who believe only in the sword, peaceably inclined nations must go to war to defend themselves, or accept
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domination. I cannot see how we can escape being forced
into eventual war against Japan.4
Tentatively, in 1906, Newport and the Navy began to plan for war with Japan. By the next year, war-planning memoranda began to refer to the potential enemy as "Japs." From amity to enmity, the Navy's emotional imagery of Japan was harnessed to the war-planning process in tandem devolution. Like a team of good draught horses, they worked well together. A strong level of professional preparation for war was sustained by a satisfying emotional subtext. Between the wars, as the Britannic enemy experienced its callimorphosis, both professional and emotional combat expectation focused on Japan. ORANGE alone became the object. By the end of the 1930s Japan had become an inevitable enemy, an essential schema of the Navy world view.
When Yarnell spoke of Japanese destiny he was, in implication, linking two nations. Japanese destiny became the objective agent of American destiny in the Pacific. The image of ORANGE, within the U.S. Navy, came to transcend the oscillations of American public and American policy. Notions of racial antipathy and inevitable war, indoctrinated at the Naval War College, created an intraservice continuum of value. This was the spine of the Navy mission: the incorporeal sense of corporate purpose was endowed, in the objective of the Japanese enemy, with osseous substance, a vertebral rallying point.
The emotional image of the enemy did not spring, full-blown, from the covers of the first ORANGE War Portfolio. Before the Great War, Service opprobrium was reserved for the Atlantic Enemy, and especially for BLACK. In the heyday of Social Darwinism, the German Reich seemed the supreme competitor. In spite of encroaching encirclement, American officers enjoyed the image of a Teutonic threat to the New World, after the manner of Homer Lea, and the popular Day of the Saxon} Germany and America, with equal navies, and the world's dominant industrial economies, were well-matched. Within the traditional American strategic theater, an Anglo-Saxon bout conjured a satisfying scene.
Japan, in pre- 1914 contrast, was less threatening and less tractable. Before the Panama Canal passed its first ship, even war games against Japan played at Newport were a chore. Actual operations from the Atlantic coast would have been so awkward as to make a campaign inconceivable. The cruise of "The Great White Fleet," as demonstrative support for Far East detente,
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was the realistic limit of American battle fleet utility in the Western Pacific.6 A war in the Caribbean, and battle with the Hochseeflotte, would have been a comfortable campaign by comparison.7
With the gathering of tensions before the European War, American officers began to draw invidious connections between Germany and Japan. Mahan, in 1910, indelicately linked the two "restless" states to ancient Sparta, and the source of the modern definition of "tyranny."8 Bradley Fiske, as Aide for Operations, wrote that "the Japanese really admire and like the Germans more than any other people!"9 ORANGE, not yet even principal potential enemy, was being drawn into the net, to be dressed in the German mode.
This trimming was undertaken at Newport, with gusto. Archival evidence reveals a subtle displacement of emotional imagery after 1913. Trace elements of the War College Course remain, to highlight the making of the enemy: ORANGE. The lectures, the reading, the theses: each worked in weaving the pattern.
The image of inevitable war was first voiced at the summer conference of 1913. Professor John H. Latani ended his lecture, "The Relation of the United States and Japan," with this warning:
. . . peace with Japan does not rest on traditional friendship, but on Japan's present inability to finance a war, and on our inability to defend the Philippines. With either condition eliminated, war would be the probable outcome.10
In 1914 and 1915 — for the first time, almost in echo of this sibylline vision — O.N.I, reports "Re ORANGE Strategic Plan" appear in the Naval War College Archives. Their redolent titles were capped by the imagery of "War Between Japan and America: A Picture of the Future."11 O.N.I, claimed these as authentic intelligence intercepts: the dialogues of war planning in the Imperial Naval General Staff. These formal rumors, avidly read, could only have embroidered the image of inevitable war. Latani was right: America was not yet able, and Japan could not afford, to send their battle fleets into mortal West Pacific combat. War was forecast for the future; the expectation had just been born.
1915 was the hinge, the turning point. Shortly after the new year Lt. Cdr. L.A. Cotton returned from Tokyo where he had
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served as naval attache. On 9 and 10 February, Cotton spoke to Bradley Fiske, Aide for Operations, and Josephus Daniels, Secretary of the Navy. On 26 February he spoke at Newport. His lecture, "Far Eastern Conditions from the Naval Point of View," was to become the Navy's inclusive manual of cultural stereotype: its seminal ethnography of Japan.
In crisp analysis, Cotton succeeded in assembling in a single essay all the commonly held, informally voiced racial notions of Japan then etherous in the Navy. In characteristic list, he drew a portrait of the Japanese that American officers responded to as revelation. As Fiske confided in private journal, Cotton "spoke so very interestingly and intelligently about Japan that I asked him to go to SecNav, and tell him all."12
Cotton's racial primer isolated six primary identifiers in Japanese national character:
A WARRIOR ETHOS: "Militarism is developed to its highest level in Japan . . . they are possessed by military spirit, which dominates their existence, and with it a readiness to undergo hardship, suffering, and death "13
NO INITIATIVE: "The Japanese people are most amenable to discipline . , . this attitude quickly develops into a blind obedience ... it results in almost entire absence of initiative of the subordinate."14
NO ORIGINALITY: "A most pronounced characteristic is
the absence of originality The Japanese are very
progressive in their extreme readiness to adopt an idea, but are equally Oriental in their frequent failure to assimilate
it 15
DECEITFUL: "Secretiveness seems inborn to the Japanese ... no other people in the world can preserve a collective secret to the degree of the Japanese."16
RUTHLESS: "A Japanese has no concept of abstract justice, and no idea of fair play. His conception of justice is met only when he gets all he desires, and his idea of fair play is for every factor to favor his side."17
ARROGANCE: "The Japanese is possessed by what can only be characterized as colossal conceit. Their attitude is
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that they do not have to prove their superiority — they freely admit it. The effect of this trait on military character is to produce boldness "18
Cotton did not invent these shibbolethic images; they were shared throughout the Service. Commodore Mathew Galbraith Perry was the first to call the Japanese "deceitful," recorded again and again in his private journal.19 By creating a formal schema, a concrete set of catchwords, Cotton cast a cultural lens for the Navy: a tinted glass through which to regard the enemy, darkly.
Between the wars, in the age of the ORANGE enemy, lectures and memoranda on Japan offered at Newport instinctively sought the cultural vocabulary of Cotton. Yarnell's 1919 address, "Strategy of the Pacific," included an indictment of Japanese culture, called "Japanese Characteristics," that in identic articles mirrored the Cotton precedent. Some imagery was exchanged — "warlike" for "militaristic," "dissimulation" for "deceit" — yet the list was the same.20 In 1927 a report from O.N.I., "Memorandum Regarding Japanese Psychology and Morale," was circulated at Newport. Updated by a decade, it was no more than a rewrite-facelift of Cotton's doctrine.21 In 1939, at the end of the era, another ex-naval attache offered his "Notes, Comparisons, Observations, and Conclusions" on Japan to Newport. There was no change. Then, at the end of his rambling discourse, Capt. Edward Howe Watson revealed the key to continuity.
As long ago as 1915, while taking a course at the Naval War College, I had the privilege of hearing the late Captain Lyman Cotton lecture here on his return from Japan.
He estimated the situation correctly, and furnished this information 24 years ago, to Washington. But even he, foresighted as he was, would have been astounded and appalled at the growth of Japanese ambition, and at the hardihood and success with which she pursues it.22
Full Circle. Cotton described the vocabulary of the emotional subtext of the ORANGE enemy. He did something more; he struck a remembered prophecy. He said, in 1915:
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The future ambition of Japan favors expansion to the southward through the many islands situated there, and where rice grows so bountifully and a supposedly lower race of men live and can be made to work for their rulers. This idea leads to America as the future enemy — 23
Cultural and racial deprecation of the enemy worked like strongback shoring to support the bulkhead of Navy mission: against the sea pressure of inevitable war. The U.S. Navy, between 1915 and 1921, came to face the vision of ultimate war with Japan, a vision that would not recede with the transfer of the battle fleet to the Pacific that year. Emotional acceptance of war, even in a fighting service, must be earned. The "Mission" of the ORANGE Plan was an operational end-run: the final, physical product of a more penetrating preparation. Newport had instilled the service with a vision of the Navy role on a vast stage, in a triumphal American drama. The Navy was the cutting edge of American policy, and it was more. American policy was, ultimately, an extension of a larger historical force.
In hypothetical war with Japan, rerun at repeat performances for 30 years, the Navy Mission was not simply "To gain and exercise command of the sea," as National Mission was not "To impose the will of the United States on ORANGE." War with Japan was cast as crusade. Racial metaphors were the subliminal props; they enrobed the image of the ORANGE enemy in evil cloth, and BLUE in stainless raiment: a surcoat of purest white. The year the fleet crossed the Canal, and the proscenium of Pacific destiny, Professor J. O. Dealey addressed the officers of this armada, at Newport:
If Japan is allowed to dominate Asia and the Pacific, it means ultimately a war of races, the struggle of the Yellows and the Browns against the Whites, under the leadership of a Prussianized Japan.24
The racial context codified by Cotton, directed against Japan in specific vocabulary, was supported by the general language of behavioral determinism. Working from the embracing expectational postulates of Social Darwinism, the Navy simply transposed theoretical concepts to perceived realities. Cotton's lecture provided the glossary of terms with which to define the contemporary "struggle of races."
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A generation before its outbreak, those who would be caught in its blast had accepted the inevitability of war. Cdr. Chester W. Nimitz wrote of "the struggle that is certain to come."25 Capt. Thomas C. Hart thought it "likely" that Japanese-American policies "will conflict so seriously that mutual adherence will lead to War."26 Cdr. Husband E. Kimmel said, simply, "We will
come into conflict with Japan "27 Social Darwinism created
an expectation of struggle. Racial imagery, in defining absolute biological barriers between peoples, made that struggle seem irresolvable.
"There is a great deal of value regarding Racial Factors."28 So began one student's review, in 1935, of Roland Dixon's Racial History of Man. By breaking the relations of the United States and Japan into a clash of biological forces, the Navy injected the will of natural selection into the war-planning process. By placing racial distinction on a scale of good and evil, the Navy added a pinch of crusading spice to the prospect of "an inevitable struggle."29
By the middle years of the 1930s, Japanese atrocities in China served to intensify the racial metaphor of good and evil, BLUE and ORANGE. Where Cotton, in 1915, described a set of pejorative traits, his imagery had, in 20 years, evolved into what Ahab called "an inscrutable malice." As Cdr. Ellis Mark Zacharias wrote, in his Newport thesis, 1934:
The various cruel and vicious acts committed in the name of patriotism appear only as a revolting reversion to barbarism still in the Japanese Race. The plain truth is that Japan cannot be regarded other than as an Oriental race, and a policy that does not keep this in view is committing an error fraught with grave consequences 30
As examination of the components of the War College Course revealed in this essay, Newport was the source indoctrination of antipathy and inevitability. From 1915 the lectures, the reading, the theses placed increasing emphasis on Japan, "that inscrutable thing" behind the mask.
Both Yarnell and Puleston, as young officers, heard Cotton speak of the Japanese on that February morning in 1915. Puleston's thesis, submitted in June, offers a clue to the influence of nascent, racial imagery, on the suggestive imagination of the young lieutenant. He ended his essay, "Blue Strategy in the Pacific," with a warning to America:
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. . . And we would ask these teachers of eternal peace not to make the task of the military in this country too hard with their false teaching. Lest in the future some Yellow historian recall the present day exploits of the Japanese like we recall those Germanic tribes that overran Rome. Lest these teachers be called with their mental calisthenics to while away the leisure of the warlike Jap. Lest they be forced with supple finger to preserve in bronze the bullet-headed conqueror. Or with deft strokes of the brush produce his yellow face on canvas, while with ingenious but specious thought they invent a new philosophy to solace their fellow citizens whose ancestors perhaps were not so highly civilized but who did know how to wield a sword.31
When his popular commentary, The Armed forces of the Pacific, was published by Yale 26 years later, ripe imagery and rhetorical indignation had been long excised from his writing. His perception of Japan was unchanged. His summary of Japanese character listed the shibboleths of Cotton's lecture in instinctive reiteration. His descriptive modifiers: "fecund," "virile," "acquisitive," "zealous," "chauvinistic" with which he had, like Tacitus in Germania endowed the barbarian samurai of his youth, remained.32
Like his friend, Puleston, Yarnell's codewords of racial perception kept continuity, from War College lecture to CINCASIATIC correspondence, 1919 to 1939.33 Letters they exchanged later in their careers highlight a synonymity in their vision of Japan.34 This link is underscored by Yarnell's preface to The Armed forces of the Pacific.
The Personal Nexus is crucial to the transmission of world view. In the unerring response of Yarnell, Puleston, and Watson, 20 years after, to the remembered imagery of youthful indoctrination, is a diagrammatic cro: jction of the mechanism of culture. In this instance, the postulates passed down were central to the definition of the Navy mission.
They defined the enemy: not on the articulate level of policy and operational planning, but on the subconscious tiers of emotional expectation. As has been argued here: this process, though but dimly understood, was a cultural necessity; necessary to sustain the authenticity of war planning in a peacetime world, necessary to justify service sacrifice in the event of war. The enemy, the real enemy, the opponent that "puts forth the moulding of its features from behind the unreasoning mask";
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this was the mirror of the Navy's own identity. At last, the manager's role, the professional mask, was not enough to inspire even corporate, let alone operational, ethos.
Behind the mask was a worthy foe: equal and opposite. In its undoubted strength, courage, and cunning, the ORANGE Fleet was a bracing challenge. In its evil incarnation, cruel, ambitious, and proud, the ORANGE Fleet defined BLUE in stark contrast, good arrayed against evil, and so imparted a sensation of righteous strength.
If, from the soft Scandinavian armchair of a more modern world view, we are tempted to sneer at their backward vision, remember this. The mirror they made of the enemy at Newport, from 1915 to 1941, reflected only another mirror. At the Kaigun Dae Gakko, at Tsukiji, Tokyo, officers in the Imperial Japanese Navy had created, over the span of a contemporary generation, their own "inscrutable malice": The American Enemy. In the shimmering irony of dual cultural reflection, they erected an identical set of racial imagery on which to posit an assurance of inevitable war.35
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PART IV THE GAME
While their country was at peace, they played at war.
Autochthonous to the American Navy, and the granite Globe of Newport, "The Strategic Naval War Game" was the Elizabethan instrumentality of the Service: "The brightest heaven of invention." Through "mysterious dispensations," a most marvelous suspension of disbelief, a mere lieutenant might command a mighty battle fleet; the tiled floor be as the blue waters of the Pacific, the gray swell of the Atlantic; and galleried gameroom encompass the destinies of nations at war. When Capt. William McCarty Little, like the conjuring Chorus, said:
The
William McCarty Little, like the conjuring Chorus, said: game offers the player the whole world as a theatre . . -1
he called for an "imaginary puissance," as in ancestral voice, to ask:
. . . Can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? Or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt?2
In their ever empty sea theater, where on each tile "eight inches is equal to 2,000 yards and a sea mile,"3 officers rehearsed the parts they would play in future, combat performance. These men, the actors of a yet unwritten war, prepared their scenes on a blank stage, with only colored chalk and cast lead tokens as props. "Prologue-like," they prepared, and made "imaginary forces work," to ready themselves for a harsher testing.
As ritual, the Newport war game was not a game at all:
In the game of war, the stake is life itself, nay, infinitely greater, it may be the life of the nation; it certainly is its honor. We are its champions 4
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What McCarty Little revealed, in chivalric imagery, was the war game as behavioral preparation, the ritual of role: "What the jousting field was to the knight, the War Game is to the modern
strategist "5 More than simple stage direction, the game was
the audition for combat, the runthrough for Operational Ethos.
Ritual, and Oracle. The annual casts of young commanders were not celebrating, in remembered verse, old victories, like Virgil over Actium. In each of 300 volumes, the "History of the Campaign" was the hopeful, incremental submission to the Sibylline Canon: the script of future war. As each game unraveled, move by move, to prophetic die-cast, with umpires as vates, it was almost as if the lines had been spoken at Cumae.
For some, there was true portent. Willis A. Lee and Jesse Oldendorf were the last American admirals to bring battlewagons into action against the dreadnought species of the enemy: 14 November 1942, and 25 October 1944. On 11 July 1928, at Newport, both men received an invitation regarding the combat maneuvering of a battleship division. How could they know, maneuvering paper BatDivs on a summer's day, that they would bring the big ships, "BLUE Fleet," into the last thunder of the guns:
SENIOR CLASS OF 1929
Department of Operations
TACTICS
Period 19 July-24 July (incl.)
First Day. Assemble in East Game Room at 0930. Bring:
Pad
Pencil
Drawing Instruments
Maneuver Rules
Chart and Board Maneuver
BLUE Fleet6
Let the Game begin!
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CHAPTER X
THE GAME AS RITUAL: EXPEDE HERCULEM
The Latin phrase Expede Herculem fully expresses the idea: from the foot of Hercules can be constructed the entire body: from a part of a thing we may infer the whole. On the tactical board, opposing fleets may be maneuvered at will — in miniature.1
So spoke the Navy's Nestor, Rear Adm. Stephen Bleecker Luce, at Newport, in 1909. To command The Decision: simply, "to learn what to do with a fleet in battle," the fledgling admiral must first learn to master "the tactical board." Combat command must first be demonstrated with ships of lead, before essaying same in steel incarnation. To Luce, Tsushima was first fought, and won, "on the tactical board, long in advance of the Russo- Japanese War."2
Ten years later Sims echoed Luce and set the place of the Game in interwar ritual:
The principles of the war game constitute the backbone of our profession. All other kinds of nautical knowledge and experience will avail us nothing when it comes to war if we have not learned the game, that is, if we do not know how to handle naval forces.
The game can be learned only by playing it.3
Play it they did: through the duration of each annual course, day after day, in pursuit of what Sims called "the practice of war."4 In the Archives at Newport, 318 recorded game histories remain, brittle and dust-filmed, for the entire interwar era, 1919-1941 (See Appendix II). The gaming of the Senior Class of 1932 can be taken as typical. Placed midway between the wars, that year was the first to achieve a standard game schedule. Three species of war game were played, in finalized evolution: the Operations
|
6 3 11 |
Days |
|
17 |
// |
|
110 |
// |
|
124 |
// |
|
17 |
// |
|
8 |
// |
|
7 |
"5 |
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Problem, the Tactical Problem, and the clutch of Quick Decision Problems. From 2 July to 20 May, 304 out of 326 days were devoted to the Game. This was how that time was spent, those endless forenoon sessions:
Tactical Presentations
Search Problem
Demonstrative Tactical Exercise
Demonstrative Strategical Exercise
Tactical Problems I-VI
Operations Problems I-V
Critiques
The Battle of Jutland (Board Maneuver)
Quick Decision Problems (A,C,E)
The first month was simply instructive. Tactical presentations on essential fleet components — Battle Line Tactics, Light Forces, Submarines, Aircraft — served "to refresh students' knowledge." Scouting procedures were reviewed in the Search Problem, those esoteric applications now forgotten: the "In-and-Out Method," "Relative Movement Method 'A'," the "Sector Method," the "Radial Double-Bank Method," the "Limited Ellipse."6 The Demonstrative Exercises were pure Bible study: instruction in both Chart and Board Maneuver, Order Writing, and the Maneuver Rules, chapter and verse.7
Operations Problems were conducted as a "Chart Maneuver, a substitute for actual Strategic Maneuvers of the Fleet."8 These marked the mutual fleet movements of a simulated oceanic campaign. All took place on paper. From move to move, each fleet "staff" plotted the moment-to-moment tracking of multitudinous, three-dimensioned armadas: ships, aircraft, and submarines. Umpires kept an omniscient "Master Plot" as imagined fleets, ponderous and inexorable, crept in colored lines on tracing "flimsies" toward awaited clash of battle fleets. The campaign choices facing rival commanders echoed the catechism of doctrine: the pas de deux of battle fleets followed, in each step, the choreography of "The Estimate of the Situation":
— Statement of the Problem
— Section I "The Mission"
— Section II "Survey of Opposing Forces"
— Section III "Enemy Courses of Action"
— Section IV "Commander's Own Courses of Action"
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— Section V "Determination of Commander's Best Course
of Action" — Section VI "The Decision" — Determination of the Details of the Directive9
War's rituals were played out in suspended authenticity: only the sea and sky and open bridge were missing. Orders were written, directives issued, commands dispatched. Separated only by screens, rival commanders called their critical choices and groped toward battle, jockeying their battlelines for position. The Contact Officers watched for the clash. When fleets' tracings intersected, "when contact becomes general, the chart maneuver terminates, and the final situation may now be used as the basis for a tactical maneuver."10 The battle had begun.
With mortal combat, the Board Maneuver begins:
Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies, In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought.
Tactical problems were the visceral distillation of battle, "simulating the realities of War."11 With the materiel of the Pen, the War College sought to recreate the experience of the Sword; and in the rarefaction, to measure its essence: to know it, to reap its bitter truth. Even in that precomputer age, the complexity to which their model strove is revealed, in this list, "Material of the Board Maneuver":
1. Maneuver Board.
2. Chalk or crayon for plotting.
3. Model ships.
4. Strips for forming groups of ships.
5. Turning cards.
6. Torpedo Fire cards.
7. Protractors.
8. Range wands.
9. Plotting table, tracing paper, drawing instruments.
10. Screens.
11. Ditto machine. (Dispatch Blanks, S-5).
12. Fire Effect tables and diagrams.
13. Message blanks (F-5).
14. Aircraft Flight form (S-10, Mod. 1).
15. Umpire's Communication Record (S-12) (Blueprint).
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16. Fire sheet ("Instructions for Scoring Gun Fire").
17. Fire Distribution and Move Date (T-4).
18. Umpire's Damage sheets (T-6(a) to T-(l)).
19. Torpedo Fire blanks (T-7).
20. Mine Laying blanks (T-8).
21. Information blank (T-10, Mod. 1).
22. Submarine Information blank (T-10, Mod. 2). .
23. Damage Reports (Minor and Capital Ships (T-ll)).
24. Bombing sheets (T-12).
25. Umpire's Torpedo Fire Record (T-13).
26. Expenditure Record (Torp., Mine and Depth
Charge (T-14)).\
27. Ammunition Expenditure (T- 15) (Blueprint).
28. Aircraft Casualty forms (T-16).
29. Tactical Plotting sheets.
30. Plane Service forms (Form S-ll).
31. Fire Distribution sheet (Form T-2).12
Complexity, and naivete. In defining battle according to formula, no matter how intricate, how empiric, reality became a mirror of ritual. By necessity, life came to reflect art. Chance, and even luck, came to operate within the limits of the language of imagination. Having imagined a measured vision of future war, mock war was forced to play according to the rules.
The rules were a formidable codex: for a mere game. At their highest evolutionary stage, the "Maneuver Rules," the historical labor of the War College Department of Operations, ran to 160 pages. There, 310 coded articles, or rules, each backed by a coalition of sections and subsections. Space and emphasis reveal not only the ritual weight attached to the components of combat, their proportions hint at the intractable nature of a physical metaphor of war:
|
Conduct of the Maneuver |
6.8% |
|
Speed and Fuel |
9.4% |
|
Visibility, Audibility, |
|
|
and Smoke Screens |
16.3% |
|
Communications |
17.5% |
|
Gunfire |
8.8% |
|
Torpedo Fire |
4.3% |
|
Mines |
5.6% |
|
Submarines |
3.1% |
|
Aircraft |
25.0% |
|
Chemical Warfare |
3.2%13 |
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"Speed and Fuel" ruled on questions of the effect of sea conditions on speed, on fuel consumption, refueling at sea, and the effects of damage on speed. In an age innocent of radar, nature and artifice yielded cloaks of concealment to stalking and fleeing fleet alike. So the concatenation of regulations for fog and smoke, twilight and dawn, flare and starshell and searchlight. "Communications" strove to recreate the frustra- tions of ship-to-ship transmission in a still hall whose acoustics would echo a whisper. "Gunfire," the emotional climax, delivered by the decisive weapon at the decisive moment at the decisive battle of the war, was given double the game weight of the subsidiary systems: destroyer and submarine-launched torpedoes and mines. The emphasis on aircraft is unusual. Can the revisionists, who cliam a hide-bound Navy where innovation was inadmissible, explain this anomaly?
Yes, the battleline, en puissant, was yet the premiere weapon. By the 1935 edition of "Maneuver Rules," the role of aircraft in battle was envisaged in a special context. Such crucial support had seaborne air come to provide the battle fleet that, like the barbarian cavalry of the Late Empire, it was the essential auxilia. No legion could take the field, at last, without equestrian mask. So with the battleline, aircraft were the critical factors in scouting, photoreconnaissance, fighter cover, artillery spotting, smoke screening, and antisubmarine patrol. The bomb and torpedo striking power of the aircraft carrier was fully recognized in the "Maneuver Rules."14 These rules encouraged the concentration of force in battle; and en masse, by all standards of that age, the battleline was still the supreme instrument of seapower. Technology had not yet enthroned the carrier. This truth the game reflectd, as its vision of war echoed the spirit of the age.
The Game was the central ritual of Newport, and the interwar Navy.
But what was it like to play?
There were two teams: two fleets: two Commanders in Chief. Strict secrecy, and team segregation, were sworn: "Radiator contacts" were taboo.15 "Preliminary to a maneuver," the "Special Situation" was issued: the assignment of mission, and the last, prewar intelligence intercepts from the enemy. Final positions were outlined, plans and orders run off by ditto.16
The masters of Maneuver Staff were the Olympian overseers; they ruled the movements of mortal fleets as did the gods over Ilium. Like the gods, they even found time to quarrel. The
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Assistant Director, Poseidon game shaker, held sway over time and tide: "the length of moves and weather conditions."17 The Assistant for History was the verseless bard, his chronicles today unread. The Assistant for Plotting "supervised the master plot," the reality, preserved in elegant blueprint, of fleets' onrush and collision.18 The Move Umpire, like Hermes, the go-between, transmitted "flimsies" from man to god. "Flimsies" were gridded sheets of tracing paper, printed by the Hydrographic Office, showing the track of every ship, move by move. As each armada moved in independent pattern, their combined tracks were correlated by plotting draftsmen. When contact was revealed on the Master Plot, the Contact Officers advised the opposing teams of the impending imbroglio. When contact became general, as fleets approached the visual horizon, the scene shifted from chart to board, from Master Plot to tiled floor. The Director of the Maneuver Staff called the battle. Like Zeus, he was the final arbiter.19
White chalklines traced the battlefield grid. "The tracks of the BLUE force are drawn in blue; those of the opposing force are drawn in red."20 Model ships followed this color cue. They were cast in three sizes, and were too small in scale to represent specimen ships. For the Mark III Game Outfit, even battleships measured less than an inch.21 To form line of battle, these lead totems were fitted to metal strips, "jointed to permit a close approximation to the tracks of the ships."22
In the great galleried hall of the game room, the little lead squadrons approached, snaking across the waxed tiles, each leaving like Theseus a colored trail behind, searching ahead for their foe. Each move marked 3 minutes of game time, and the sea distance a fleet could cover at varying speed.23
When visual contact was made between rival battle fleets, the wooden screens, the instrumentality of the unknown, were abruptly withdrawn. The face of battle was unmasked.24
Now, to the flash of gunfire and the white wake of torpedo track, the shock of decision drew near: in a single 3-minute move, the course of battle could make irrevocable change. The game took on an imagined intensity, ferocious action suspended in time as teams and umpires frantically measured speed and range, and bargained for better visibility. In the blueprint chronicles of combat, the plates of battle describe an insane shift from the tracks of orderly approach to the boiling welter of invariable melee. Those battles, had history given them life, and the ocean a watery grave, would be remembered now in
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immortal image: for carnage, intrepidity, and cran. In the limbo of game time, 3 minutes could attenuate into an hour. Rival commanders in game possessed a leisure impermissible in battle. They used their bonus well and crammed heroic intensity into a short, and savage, mock arena.
Game complexity allowed no more realistic alternative. Instrumental simulation could be achieved, sans microcircuitry, in slow motion only. Simultaneity and "real-time" combat could not be modeled. With turning card templates, model ships could be moved quickly. The infliction and assessment of battle damage, in contrast, was laborious, a painstaking process of calculation and arbitration.
"The Fire Action of the Battleline" was the most intractable, interminable calculation of all. If the gun was the decisive weapon, its fire was also the most difficult to deliver. Bombs and torpedoes were, essentially, pointed in the right direction and released. Battleship heavy artillery, to place an armor-piercing shell in an opponent's innards at 25,000 yards with any prayer of success, enslaved the compressed energy of a full ship's company. So it was with the war game. A set of torpedo fire cards and fire blanks could launch a successful spread, and a simple bombing sheet could press home an aerial assault.25
In a 3-minute move, "the delivery of fire effect" involved 45 distinct and incremental calculations, derived from 15 penalty tables and 200 pages of "Fire Effect Tables." To assess staying power — resistance to battle damage — combatant "life value" was measured on a scale of equivalent 14" hits. A battleship was expected to be able to absorb 15-20 hits before sinking. Cruisers were rated from three to five hits. A destroyer would be lucky to survive one. Both fire effect and life value were converted to a standard scale.26
As forenoon slipped away, hieroglyphic battlelines blazed away in soundless fury, separated by the tiled expanse of inches. Range wands and protractors drawn, teams bent over their squadrons as colossi, fretted in concentration:
How many ships are firing? How many guns?
Broadside or end-on?
What method of fire control: Direct, indirect, barrage?
Likewise the lay of the guns:
Pointer, Director, Stable Zenith Director?
What spotting: Top Spot, Plane Spot, or Local Control?
Had the target a new bearing?
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Old range, or new? Was it fixed? Quick, the target angle!
Find the fire effect tables: Down the series rows of .000's! Now, the first correction, gun damage from the last move. The first multiplier, and this move's normal fire effect. To continue:
Are we under effective fire, or less than normal fire? Is our fire masked? Is there surprise? Are we under fire concentration from the enemy? Have ships changed course, are our guns out of train? What is the spray, the smoke,
the roll and pitch and yaw? Night battle interference? Now a second correction: The second multiplier, depreciated in tenths, Our remaining normal fire effect. Now what is left? Sun's glare and silhouette, Course changes during play, and speed; is there a change
of range? At last, the third correction factored in, The third multiplier, and normal fire effect now Fire effect delivered, fire effect inflicted. Three minutes of battleship battering must be assessed.27
"The Fire Action of the Battle Line" was the Eleusinian Mystery of the Game, as the game was the central ritual of ethos. Sims called the game "the backbone of our profession"; he also said:
Of course, you know that the usefulness of the War College depends chiefly upon keeping the game up to date, particularly in reference to gunfire 28
To the interwar Navy, the concentrated fire effect of the dozen battlewagons of the BatDivs, BatFor, was the very fulcrum of American seapower. This was clear at Newport as early as 1909, when Luce addressed the class:
The Fleet — by which is meant the fleet of sixteen battleships recently brought home — the Fleet, I say, stands for the Sea Power of the United States.29
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The cultural programming of every officer-student adjured a classical clash of capital ships, an American Trafalgar. In the game play, every unstated subliminal urge echoed the doctrine of operational ethos: the ritual incarnation of the offensive, of decisive battle. Through interminable weeks of board play, arguments with umpires, and chalk-stained hands, the link between quiet hall and splinter-naked bridge — the spasmic intensity of combat leadership — must have come close to snapping. As Luce apologized, "the tactical board does not develop nerve, it is true; but no one has ever claimed that it
should "30 To some, the game seemed "theoretical," as if
theory was the opposite of reality, and so ineffably inculcated attitudes inimical to combat. Even Frost fell into the snare of this logic, and wrote Sims, in his worry that theoretical training might promote a "defensive attitude."31
The bloody theater of the game preserved in megahistoria an eloquent rebutment. Of those 318 surviving chronicles, there is combat action enough for a score of great wars. In the unfolding of campaign and battle, and in the usage of the decisive weapon, the charted chronicles describe not only the Navy's vision of future war; but belief, bordering on obsession, with the offensive. As the ritual investment of operational ethos — the doctrine — within the (\>ikori\±ia* of each man who played it, the game seved this Navy well. To cultural instrumentality, the superficial imagery of the next war was irrelevant. A fighting service in peace cannot afford to choose between bickering Cassandras: no man can forecast future war. In peace, it is enough to keep alive the <$>CkoTi\iia of combat; through careful rehearsal, to maintain the behavioral patterns of strategic thought. In waiting for war, as in all endeavor: "The readiness is all."
This readiness was an ultimate function of learned instinct. The game, in the image of Expede Herculum, instilled the </>iAori/Lua of war within the subconscious. As Clausewitz, the seer of Service world view, wrote of theory and of the game:
...it can give the mind insight into the great mass of phenomena and of their relationships, then leave it free to rise into the higher realms of action. There the mind can use
*In Modern Greek, sense of honor, self-respect, self-esteem.
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its innate talents to capacity, combining them all so as to seize on what is RIGHT and TRUE as though this were a single idea ... a response to the immediate challenge rather than the product of thought.32
This was the teaching of the game.
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CHAPTER XI THE GAME AS ORACLE: THE CAMPAIGN
Of course, the game-board presents only a picture But
the more it is used, the more accurate the picture will become, and the more accurately we shall learn to read it.1
To Rear Adm. Bradley Fiske, the game was a clouded crystal, a dark glass with which to steal a glimpse of the future. As the vates of the next war, the game integrated Clausewitzian postulates of operational ethos with an evolving test of operational limitation. Idealized behaviors, both in the heat of combat and the ether of strategy, were constantly tested on the game floor.
The ideal, the objective, was the reduction of Japanese seapower. Of 136 strategic games, or chart maneuvers, extant, 127 made this the mission. ORANGE was the enemy in 127 imagined marches; 127 times the battle fleet crossed the Pacific, to free the Philippines, and to do battle with the Japanese fleet. This ocean was the obsessive cockpit of future war.
To grasp the objective, to make the mission, BLUE game play must reconcile two estranged states within the schema of Clausewitz' theory: the offensive, and friction in war. Between the wars, campaign action on the Newport game floor mirrored an escalating struggle between strategic impetus and strategic entropy.
. . . defense has a passive purpose: PRESERVATION; and
attack a positive one: CONQUEST But we must say that
the DEFENSIVE FORM OF WARFARE IS INTRINSICALLY STRONGER THAN THE OFFENSIVE. This is the point. . . .2
So Clausewitz underscored the conundrum faced by the BLUE strategist, in universal postulate. With the Philippines hostage
144
to Japan, America and the BLUE Fleet were committed to trans-pacific offensive. Enter friction:
Everything in war is simple, but the simplest thing is difficult. The difficulties accumulate and end by producing the kind of friction that is inconceivable unless one has experienced war. . . . Friction is the only concept that . . . distinguishes real war from war on paper.3
For the U.S. Navy, friction was the stretch of 4,767 nautical miles separating Honolulu and Manila. Each sea mile was a step into an agonistic trail of attrition: submarine sniping, night destroyer rushes, dawn bombing runs. At the end of the odyssey, with Corregidor, an Ithaca invested, there would be no hospice; no haven safe from storm to dress the wounds of listing battleship or bomb-blackened cruiser.
Never was there a war game so ungreased. As codified in "The Conduct of Maneuvers," the game encouraged the action of friction. In Tac. 96, in 1923, the BLUE Battle fleet anchored at Dumanquilas in Mindanao, with 15 capital units still active.4 In OP. IV, 1928, just 10 BLUE battleships "were afloat in Southern Philippines at end" of game.5 By OP. IV, 1933, only 7 battlewagons survived the Pacific run unscathed.
OP. IV was the critical game, the turning point. Two massive, full-force ORANGE night torpedo attacks pressed home into the heart of the BLUE Battle fleet and erupted into melee so titanic that the night Battle of Guadalcanal seems but skirmish by comparison.6
As a battered BLUE armada limped toward Mindanao anchorage, the ORANGE battleline, uncommitted and so unmarked by combat, waited, rested and ready, for the propitious moment of descent. This was an unendurable image. In their post mortems, many players balked at the continuing setup of the "short war" sortie. A rush to the Philippines by the massed American Fleet was pure fantasy, "unfeasible": "it could not be done."7
So by the grace of the game was the Navy's "short war" illusion at last interred. By OP. Ill, in 1935, BLUE was advancing by hop, skip, and jump through the Mandates, and building an advanced base at Truk.8 For OP. V, 1938, the itinerary had been established: Eniwetok to Ponape to Truk.9 OP. VII, 1938, continued the advance to Yap and Peleliu (Palau), and then on to Jolo, just South of Mindanao.10
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Scenarios began to branch out from bilateral BLUE- ORANGE war. Both OP. VII, 1938, and 1939, posited BROWN (Netherlands) as an ally of America.11 The 1939 strategic canvas did not even begin at the beginning. The game begins in the third year of war between ORANGE and BLUE. Forcing its way, atoll by atoll, across the Central Blue, the "Main Fleet" of America is anchored off northern New Guinea, not far from the Biak strategic springboard of 1944. Over three million Americans are under arms; 400,000 are in cantonments in Java, awaiting the final, amphibious assault on the Philippines.12
So many interwar rehearsals prepared an assured performance. OP. IV, 1929, was a "Joint Army and Navy Operations Problem with Forced Landing." The script, 463 pages, contained the most minute stage directions for a simultaneous four-division amphibious assault on the beaches of Balayan, Batangas, and Tabayas Bays, four score miles south of Manila. "The Estimate of the Situation and Decision," "...involves placing about 450,000 men, and about 1,750,000
tons of Army supplies in the PHILIPPINES by 1 November "
Fifteen years early, a game would call for an October amphibious landing in that jeweled archipelago.13
Amphibious techniques pioneered, in charted imagination, patterns familiar to 1944, on familiar beaches. In OP. IV, 1929, landings were given distant cover by more modern capital ships, with direct bombardment support delegated to older armored ships. Escort Carrier Groups — yes — were focused on a single task: close air support over the beachhead.14 Twelve years before the first Higgins lighters began to roll off the production line, armored, motorized landing craft designs were blueprinted at Newport, for the great assault on Luzon, October 1929. 15
Logistics were not shrugged; they alone could atlas the burden of the offensive. To keep the BLUE BatFor in WestPac, OP. IV, 1929, chartered the service schedules of 470 train auxiliaries.16 The Pacific War was always, for BLUE, the main event, demanding the maximum effort. OP. IV, 1929, called for no less than 137 fleet oilers (AO and XAO); by 1933, OP. IV critiques urged refueling major combatants at sea, as routine procedure, 6 years before operational tests were authorized.17
All the pieces of future war were deployed on the interwar game board. From gambit to checkmate, the spectrum of campaign symbiosis with ORANGE was imprinted on a generation of service leadership. Incessant scene-building of BLUE-ORANGE campaigns created a visceral ease of
146
expectation. "Island-hopping" across the central Pacific, multidivision amphibious assaults on Luzon and Okinawa, blockade of the Japanese home islands: an aggregation of gaming created familiar doctrine and familiar geography for gestant war. Newport developed a rehearsal program, through the game, that reconciled the offensive necessity of transpacific war with the friction inevitable in an oceanic campaign.
By 1941, the Navy was primed for Pacific passage. This argosy was expected to end well before the beaches of Kyushu.
No war game of that era ever broached the image of an invasion of Japan. Objective mission ended with the seizure of the Ryukyus and economic blockade. Even in the U.S. Navy, still imbued with archaic notions of civilized warfare, there was a growing interwar awareness of the tyranny of modern fashion. Total war, in 1914-1918, had returned after a long leave of absence. By the time the "spirit of Locarno" was quite dead, the Navy was beginning, at Newport, to enlarge its expectations. War with ORANGE was certain to drag into a 4-year campaign. After 1932, with Japan comfortably ensconced on the Asian mainland, war might not end after a fleet battle, nor after retaking Luzon, nor after the fall of Okinawa, nor after drawing the noose of blockade. More might be needed. In December 1933 a discussion held after the bitter finish of OP. IV, drew a prophetic scene:
It was said that in a war with ORANGE we were holding on to the old idea of economic strangulation of ORANGE in the crossing of the PACIFIC, and urged thought on ways of
conducting a more successful war with ORANGE It was
brought out that ORANGE is very much worried about air attacks on her cities . . . . 18
Only a fleet could seize those islands, to carve out airstrips —
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CHAPTER XII THE GAME AS ORACLE: THE BATTLE
Battle is the catharsis of war.
The battle, as played at Newport, was the denouement of the game. In game metaphor, the image of decisive combat — The Big Battle — coexisted on parallel planes: professional and spiritual.
The battle as professional denouement was the climactic proof-test of the theory of war: of the inculcated teachings of Clausewitz. Within his Hegelian vision of war,
. . . the concept of the engagement lies at the root of all strategic action, since strategy is the use of force, the heart of which, in turn, is the engagement. So in the field of strategy we can reduce all military activity to the unitary concept of the single engagement ... all threads of military activity lead to the engagement; if we control the engagement, we comprehend them all.1
The key scriptural texts of The Battle were "The Fire Action of the Battle Line," "Cruisers and Destroyers in the General Action," and "The Naval Battle." This triteuch described in diagrammatic detail the structure of a decisive encounter at sea, "the supreme effort of men and material."2 The central concept was simple:
The primary objective is the breaking up of the enemy battle line . . . and to turn the advantage gained into a decisive victory.3
Echoing Clausewitz, War College president Harris Laning wrote of the objective imperative of all command at sea:
Those to whom the handling of forces in war is entrusted are in duty bound to so handle them that those forces will exert
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their maximum power in the battle that is the campaign's crucial and decisive point.4
In theory, war was resolved in a decisive encounter, "the single engagement," that would itself hinge on "the decisive point of the engagement": the clash of battlelines.5 Recent history, at Tsushima and at Jutland, offered ambiguous confirmation of wisdom's convention. Tradition, codified by Mahan, was a litany of precedence: Quiberon Bay, The Saintes, The Nile, Trafalgar. The American Navy, above all, dreamed of extending the list. "Decisive victory" was more than a professional objective: it was the moment of grace as much as the moment of truth. As "the supreme effort of men," so the battle was the supreme test. Each of the texts of the battle stressed the spiritual nature of battle, and of victory:
The moral factor in battle is predominant.6
Such must be the will to win that nothing short of complete victory will be accepted.7
The moral factors to our benefit lay in the spiritual reaction with the enemy.8
As the decisive moment of the decisive action of a war, the battle created an aura of historical gravity.
By historical implication, the battle fleet came to be perceived, at Newport and throughout the Service, as the physical instrument of American victory in future war: the agent of national destiny. As national champion in a decisive arena, operational ethos, in the course of the interwar era, was refined into a sublime rarefaction of perceived national ethos. The gaming of the battle provided an expressive ritual for future commanders, to intensify their commitment to victory, so that their "will to win" might mirror the full force of national will:
Our country's largest and most vital team is its naval battle team — the most nearly perfect team of its kind in the world.9
We officers have a tremendous work before us to prepare ourselves and our fleet team to be always invincible in battle.10
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In physical structure, the battle "plan approximates the general plan and ideas followed by both fleets at Jutland."11 As spiritual symbol within the span of America's history, the battle was a nearly transcendent test of naval and national character. Victory in so profound a contest would be a sign of historical grace. For this inheritance, the Navy looked not to the soiled image of Jutland but to the shining shibboleth of Trafalgar. In the battle, Nelson is evoked again and again. In "The Fire Action of the Battle Line," the first diagrams are of Trafalgar and of the Nile, to illustrate the existential postulates of decisive victory.12
The pursuit of the battle on the game floor of Newport between the wars was the spiritual quest of the U.S. Navy for an American Trafalgar. For Great Britain, Trafalgar was the physical and moral agent of 19th-century supremacy. More than any modern battle, Trafalgar forged the spiritual strength of the British Empire. At Newport, this navy cherished that single recognition. As the climax of Mahan's thesis, Trafalgar was the influence of seapower upon history: this truth indoctrinated at the War College had become part of the Navy world view.
The battle, as played at Newport, was an attempt to lay the spiritual foundations of an American Trafalgar in the next war. The Board Maneuver Chronicles support this sensation.
Of 106 pure tactical games, 49 were fought against ORANGE, 5 against a BLACK-SILVER coalition in 1940-1941, and 52 against RED. In contrast to the record of strategic gaming, where 93 percent of all problems were framed in BLUE- ORANGE colors, RED was the enemy in 49 percent of all tactical situations. Not all of these situations involved general actions; only 71 tactical games involved a clash of battlelines. From this sum of 71 battleline board maneuvers, fully 48 called for decisive action against the RED battle fleet. The proportion of BLUE-RED potential Trafalgars rises to 68 percent.
There were two motivations behind this board maneuver obsession with the Royal Navy, when all strategic expectation favored war with Japan. Britain's battleline was the force to beat; the toughest challenge, the class opponent, the match game. Then, as the service descendants of Nelson, the officers of the modern Royal Navy wore the moral mantle of victory. To be capable, even in game, of meeting and besting an opponent physically equal and morally superior would mark a turning point. This was the importance of the games highlighted in the callimorphosis of RED. America fought 50 Jutlands against the British Battle fleet: 50 battles played to the rules of Jutland, with
150
the texture of that North Sea fight. There the resemblance ended. Spiritually, the U.S. Navy did not "refight the battle of Jutland" on the game floor of the War College, as some have claimed.13 These were reruns of Trafalgar, fought with modern weapons: the youthful challenger against the aging champion:
Personally, we believe that the whole attitude of the British Navy had changed since the days of Drake, Hawke, Jervis,
and Nelson. Then it was young; now it had grown old Its
national policy was defensive, rather than offensive. That affected its naval strategy and turned the British Navy to thoughts of defense, rather than offense.14
So the judgment of Commander Holloway Frost, writing on Jutland, in 1936. The causal and inseparable link between naval and national character is clear: the invidious comparison, of Nelson with Jellicoe, of Trafalgar with Jutland, of triumph with despair. Even in the 1920s, before the epoch of appeasement, the commentary of American naval officers was harsh. In his thesis on tactics, 1923, Cdr. H.R. Stark said simply that, at Jutland, the Grand Fleet "lacked the fighting edge, the offensive spirit, the will to win."15 These phrases, by contrast, were the fighting commandments of the War College Course, and made up the concept of the battle:
There is only one successful way of going for the objective in
battle, and that is the offensive way Let us not forget that
though defensive tactics sometimes prevent defeat, only by offensive tactics can a decisive victory be gained.16
Trafalgar and Jutland became the symbolic moral examples of greatness and of decline.
The battle was the epiphany of the ritual of the game. Like the combat of two champions who fight in place of whole armies, the big battle was a metaphoric enactment of the full activity of a war. As a dramatic encounter in which the moral qualities of each opponent cry for open evaluation, the very image of a decisive battle implies an exhibition of spiritual strength.
If realistic tactical simulation were required, it was injected into combat modeling in the Pacific theater. There, in a war with ORANGE, no one forecast a classic clash of battlelines. Newport anticipated a messy, awkward war of attrition. The majority of tactical games played against ORANGE involved detachments:
151
groups of battleships, cruisers, or destroyers tangling at night or in narrow waters; on shipping raids or convoy defense or screening operations. The art of the engagement was a process of daily combat, not a single showcase. Sharp, bloody, and confused, the ORANGE tactical problems often seem to mirror, in grimy reality, the coming war.
Those epic contests, given titles like "The Battle of the Emerald Bank," and "The Battle of Sable Island," fought off the fog banks of Nova Scotia as if in an ersatz North Sea, served a special purpose. They taught the future commanders of the American Navy, as Laning adjured, "to be always invincible in battle."
The game was, in the guise of the battle, the oracle of Victory.
152
CHAPTER XIII THE GAME AS ORACLE: THE WEAPON
The battleship is the backbone of seapower.1
Battleship, Battlewagon, Ship of the Line,
Dreadnought, Ironclad,
The Big Ships, the Heavy Ships, called, after the Washington Conference, through the interwar era, the Capital Ship.2 From the embryonic Naos of Vasco da Gama, Europa embarking as Os Lusiadas, to conquer the Indies, the concept of the capital ship had evolved into the first independent strategic system, encoded into legal language, enshrined by international treaty.
By 1922, law legitimized in limitation the triumphant creation of Victorian technology: the dreadnought battleship. The capital ship concept was that of an ark, a vessel transformed into the ultimate instrumentality of power achieved in the interwar era. As such standard, the 20th-century battleship embodied an operational potential that transcended all contemporary weapons systems:
THE greatest deliverable weapons payload, both in terms of destructive power and of accuracy, over time, of any contemporary weapons system.
THE greatest endurance, in terms of time on station in the pursuit of operational objectives, of any contemporary weapons system.
THE greatest staying power, in terms of defensive, protective, and damage-control systems, of any contemporary weapons system.
THE greatest strategic mobility, in terms of the most direct deployment, at the highest initial state of readiness, of the most concentrated form of applied military power, of any contemporary weapons system.3
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The battleship was the key to American global power. Between the wars, limited by treaty to 18, and then to 15, capital units, the U.S. Navy still posited transpacific fleet movement on the battleship backbone. As "the rallying point of all forces in the fleet," the solid rock foundation of offensive planning, the American battleship was both the instrument and the symbol of national will.4
All battleships, in the design process, were constrained by hull size. At Washington, size was limited to 35,000 tons standard displacement. Within this margin, a balance must be struck between the four core components of operational capability — weapons payload, endurance, staying power, and strategic mobility — and calibrated to national strategic needs. The great gray ships of the American battleline, between the wars, emblemized American strategic goals.
They were built for transoceanic combat. Tough, belted and "buttoned up" against mine and torpedo, strong-armed with
hollow engines long and round Thick-rammed, at the other bore with touch of fire Dilated and infuriate, shall send forth From far, with thundering noise, among our foes, Such implements of mischief, as shall dash To pieces, and o'erwhelm whatever stands . . .
the American battleship inspired confidence. The gun was the decisive weapon, and 16 inches, in the Navy, was the decisive caliber. As H.R. Stark exclaimed, in 1937, as ChBuOrd:
AT LAST we have the decision on the gun caliber for the capital ships and thank the Lord it is 16". 5
With such "devilish enginery," American battlewagons might knock at the gates of Heaven. In earthly pride, crossing the Pacific unscathed would prove to be task enough.
The American capital ship of the interwar era traded tactical for strategic mobility. This was the crucial design compromise. Topped off with 4,570 tons of oil, the New World dreadnought could range halfway 'round the globe at 12 knots; 2 months' steaming before her tanks ran dry.6 This comfortable oceanic reach prompted the image publicized by Puleston, of the offensive, on the eve of war:
154
The American Fleet would cross the Pacific at about the speed of translation of a cyclone — between 10 and 15 knots. It would resemble the cyclone in a more important phase, leveling everything in its path except a stronger fleet — and a stronger fleet does not at present exist.7
In private game post mortems at Newport, the vision was less certain. After OP. IV, 1933, Capt. R.B. Coffey admitted, in his critique:
BLUE, in this advance across the Pacific, has undertaken one of the most difficult operations of war. His success rests, above all else, on the maintenance of the battle line in strength superior to ORANGE.8
Both images, confident and questioning, rooted the reality of an American transoceanic offensive on the battleship backbone. Only through the capital ship concept, embodied by the battleship, could the interwar Navy hope to operate offensively in the Western Pacific. Only the battleship could venture sustained operations, accept sustained punishment, and offer sustained "impetuous fury" in return. In the mortal combat of that age, only a battleship could overthrow a battleship.
If the American Battle Force were the source of strategic thinking, the agent of transoceanic national will, the battleline was in aggregate as well the "decisive weapon" of the "decisive point" of the "decisive battle" of a war:
The modern sea battle is still centered around the main gun action.9
The fire action of the Battle Line, by reason of its power, dominates.10
The dominating phase in battle is the gun fight between heavy ships.11
The foundation around which the battle play of any fleet is built is its heavy battle line 12
This evocative thunder, the "devilish enginery" of Paradise Lost, permeates the subconscious of the vision of future war versified at Newport. In the symbolic Big Battle, the hopes and fortunes
155
of two nations, two peoples, would be weighed in the single, spasmodic clash of battlelines. If national destiny could be reduced to the outcome of a single battle; battle distilled to a climactic shock of battlelines; and the American line held by less
than a score of heavy ships
A dozen battlewagons were the Shield of the Republic. Advancing across the Pacific, a dozen dreadnoughts forged the offensive blade of American foreign policy: The BLUE Sword. In the "Maneuver Rules," the text of the game, and in the triteuch of the battle, the 12 champions of the battle force, girded in adamantine armor, armed with "Hollow engines ... in triple mounted row," were the ultimate arbiters of war. If, on meeting the battleline of the enemy, the American BatDivs
. . .can hit that line a blow at the earliest possible moment and keep hitting it with its full sxrength as long as the line exists . . . then the enemy's battle line will be broken and destroyed, and his whole fighting structure will crumble 13
As an autopsy of the future, the game judged the fate of nations on "The Fire Action of the Battle Line"; on a bloody instant of battle that might, on a clear day, last only 21 to 84 minutes.14
Strategic systems, the instrumentality of ultimate decision in war, tend to promote the expectation of immediate decision. In theoretical circumstance it was possible to annihilate the battleline of an enemy in single battle; a la Trafalgar, it was possible to "lose the war in an afternoon." Similar imagery reigns today; it is all the fashion to blithely proclaim the tenure of nuclear war in minutes . . . perhaps 21 to 84?
These shared assumptions give strength to deterrent theory in time of peace. An instrument of decision seems more formidable if the threat of its employment promises immediate result. In the shock of war, strategic systems cannot be squandered: reality is not so ready as the dramatic fantasy of deterrence imagery. As the "backbone" of theater pressure, the physical prop of campaign strategy, strategic systems, in war, tend to be judiciously used.
In the BatDivs of the BatFor, the U.S. Navy developed America's first strategic system. As the "backbone" of American seapower, these dozen battlewagons were critical to the rigorous campaign modeling at Newport, in strategic problems played against ORANGE. As the champions of the battle, the band of
156
American battleships became the emotional symbols of the Navy's perceived role in national destiny. With only 12 in the BatFor, and on the game floor, each ship was invested with an animus. Named after states of the Union, each ship became a regional microcosm of America: as in ancient epic, a rollcall of champions, of heroes, would summon men from every island and every polis:
Maryland, Colorado, Idaho, Mississippi, California, West Virginia, Tennessee, New Mexico, Nevada, Pennsylvania, Oklahoma, Arizona
Full fifty ships beneath Achilles' care, The Achaians, Myrmidons, Hellenians bear; Thessalians all, though various in their name; The same their nation, and their chief the same.15
157
AFTERWORD
When war came, the Navy was ready to realize, in synchronous realities, the remembered ritual of combat leader- ship. The prophecy of the Game had come to pass. The battle fleet, the proud instrumentality of expectant destiny, lay wrecked in the fires of Pearl; but it rose again, as steel-clad phoenix, to finish the job. A new fleet of fast carriers and sleek, AA-bristled battleships wrested the Pacific from the Teiheyo Kaigun, forcing their battered big ships back to the naked harbors of the Japanese homeland.
The campaign in the Pacific lacked none of the components of the great Board Maneuver, save one: The Battle, the American Trafalgar. Midway was enshrined, but as a terrific, defensive turning point in the fortunes of war. The Japanese Fleet escaped. In the emotional search for a decisive battle, the big fleet battles of 1944 missed. Philippine Sea and Leyte were, at last, disappointments. Twice, the battlewagons of the Combined Fleet squirmed away from the eager denouement fantasized by three generations of American officers. How hard we tried to make of Leyte the stuff of legend! When Samuel Eliot Morison brought to history the specter of missed opportunity, the chance to bring the "Jap Fleet" to battle, the judgment, even in 1958, was almost too much for poor Bill Halsey to bear: »•
Ham Dow came in to see me last Friday and we discussed a
son-of-a-bitch named Morison.1
This, the beginning of a tirade to Adm. Robert B. Carney, ex-CNO. Carney, attempting to placate the old seadog, agreed that "the battle's outcome was favorable and completely decisive from the strategic viewpoint — and the effectiveness of Japan's sea power was ended . . . . "2
So it had been with Jutland: and the unstated comparison carried little comfort. The fighting had been magnificent, but Halsey had thrown in "Ching" Lee's battleships too late: the promise of the enacted ritual of the game, and the making of
158
Nelsonic myth, was lost. The victorious American Navy was left with a nagging frustration, and the historical usage only of images like "effectiveness" and "favorable": a qualification of the anatomy of glory.
If, in that last clash of arms, the Navy missed a certain ritual catharsis, the Service realized, through the experience of the Pacific War, the full geas of the Newport mission, and the indoctrination of Sims and of Knox and of Kalbfus. In doing so, they achieved not only the narrower objective of war, but the unstated sense of destiny implicit in the Navy ethos. The Navy collected its ships, and pushed the perimeter of this nation — its invisible oceanic frontier — as though it were a palpable thing, across the Pacific. The vision of Benton and Gilpin and Whitman, like an ineradicable American verse, was planted on the littoral margins of Eurasia. There it has remained.
As agent, the Navy achieved this tectonic displacement through the instrumentality of the capital ship: not the old BatFor, shattered at Pearl, but the sleek "task forces" of carrier and fast battleship. Today, the imperial alliances and client states of the American oikoumene are guaranteed by the enduring emblem of the battleline: no longer the dreadnoughts of the BatFor, but the carrier "battle groups" of the world island. Forward deployed in Atlantic, Pacific, Mediterranean, and Indian waters, these 12 Brobdingnagian arks, three times the bulk of a basket-masted battlewagon, remain the oceanic sinew of the association of kindred states — this globe-spanning Delian League — that we call The West.3
Yet there was something more, something almost instinctual, something in the very mortar of the War College. The abiding purpose of the War College was — and is — to teach the "art of war." Not simply the usage of war's instrumentalities, but the meaning of its operational art. The college was created to inculcate 0iAori/zta, the philotema of combat. Through the ritual of the game, Newport taught generation after generation the behavioral spirit of operational ethos. "The readiness is all "
In the decade following our self-inflicted Asian debacle, the American military services have, unthinking, turned away from the philotema of combat, and the training of operational ethos, as though it were a barbaric atavism, a primitive ancestral throwback to another, harsher age. As Richard Gabriel and Paul Savage lamented, in their soul-searching autopsy, Crisis in Command:
159
. . . the British sense of "the military way" and the French sense of "elan" are qualities that escape definition ... a similar "sense of the legion" is lacking in the American military in general and the officer corps in particular .... It is this quality, the discovering of a sense of community, a sense of honor, a sense of the "way of the legion," which we must attain.4
The manager came, almost consciously, to eclipse the warrior; for the philotema of the warrior — his operational ethos — and the fraternity of his service — his corporate ethos — have been forged in current argot to the evil image of an imperial mission, and the "shameful" memory of Vietnam.
For the Navy, and its "home of thought," this judgment has created a decade of dismantlement. The Estimate of the Situation was abjured, and tours at the college became redolent of "ticket-punching," a racking-up of career points. Manage- ment courses became dominant fashion: costing methodology triumphed over battle tactics. A swarm of petty assignments greeted the middle-managing students of the new navy, ready and armed to do battle in the grade-point melee.
Somehow the old doctrine evaded extinction, and may yet prevail. Vice Adm. James Stockdale, as president, hammered home a single theme, over all others, to his students:
Wars cannot be fought the same way bureaucrats haggle over apportionments. The toll in human life in battle does not lend itself to cost/benefit analysis .... As we follow the peacetime horde down the prescribed track, let us not adopt a false sense of security .... Have you thought it through? When the whistle blows, are you ready to step out of your business suit with both the philosophy and the belly for a fight?5
Like Luce, in 191 1, crying in the wilderness, Stockdale saw the central meaning of his service, and the object of all endeavor:
Your profession is the art of war, and nature will be avenged if you violate one of its laws in undertaking to make a part greater than the whole. You give two years to marine engineering and but seventy-eight days to the study of the art you pretend to profess. This is a total eclipse of the mental vision. You cannot even see the grim humor of it!6
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In the voices of these two men the lineage of mission at the War College holds unbroken.
And there remains the game. As Stockdale writes:
We've made a conscious shift to war gaming in the Naval Operations course, and our students participate to an ever greater extent in major CINC-level games during the year .... The reputation of the Naval War College was built largely on the tremendous impact gaming had on World War II.7
Like an iron thread of continuity, the game goes on. At the Center for War Gaming, SACLANT/CINCLANTFLT still holds quarterly games: called now "Tactical Command Readi- ness War Games." Begun in 1976 by Adm. Isaac Kidd, they share kinship with the 1921 convocations of the Atlantic Fleet at Newport. There, far from the politicking of the Capital, the Navy, under Sims' tutelage, thought hard about battle. Now, instead of the BatFor in the Philippine Sea, they play carrier "battle groups" in the waters north of Iceland, extending American seapower to the lair of "the enemy." When Kidd would address his officers, in the pristine new gameroom in Sims Hall, clotted with state-of-the-art electronics, his message might have echoed in the galleried chamber of another age:
I don't want anyone here who isn't prepared to bleed for his country .... When war starts, we're going to have to go to work .... I don't want to go into the Norwegian Sea, but we might have to ... . We've got to be prepared for staggering losses . . . but we've got to go north where the battle is .... I don't know what's going to happen when war begins . . . that's what we're here for, to prepare for war . . . . 8
In such men, the old ethos lives. They talk of mission, and there is fire in their eyes. And then the game begins, as it has for something like a finished century, by the waters of the gray Atlantic; and the trappings of this age cannot obscure ineluctable tradition. Though the fleets move on electronic board, the squadrons of the enemy glow ORANGE. The American battle groups move north of Iceland, as Kidd insists they must, burning BLUE, like a sword in that computer fantasy.
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In such men, the line of descent is clear. The young men, the junior officers who exalt the shallow spirit of their age, must discern the imprint of this ancestry. Now they mirror, more than any earlier naval generation, the spirit of contemporary society: an American society in search of mission. They must seek within themselves the esprit, the "way of the legion," the philotema of those who came before, those who fought for their unyielding vision of America. For the Navy, and its young officers, this means no less than a rediscovery of self. They must be able to come to Newport and search out, once again, their sense of higher mission in American life, and in this nation's uncertain future.
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APPENDIX I
THE COLORS OF THE RAINBOW
|
BLUE |
U.S.A. |
|
BLACK |
Germany |
|
ORANGE |
Japan |
|
RED |
Great Britain |
|
CRIMSON |
Canada |
|
SCARLET |
Australia |
|
GARNET |
New Zealand |
|
RUBY |
Indian Empire |
|
GOLD |
France |
|
SILVER |
Italy |
|
OLIVE |
Spain |
|
GREEN |
Mexico |
|
BROWN |
Netherlands East Indies |
|
PURPLE |
U.S.S.R. |
|
LEMON |
Portugal |
|
CITRON |
Brazil |
|
YELLOW |
China |
|
INDIGO |
Iceland |
|
EMERALD |
Eire |
|
GRAY |
Azores |
|
TAN |
Cuba |
|
VIOLET |
China Intervention |
|
WHITE |
U.S.A. (Domestic Contingency) |
164
APPENDIX II
ABBREVIATED TITLES
Title
Commander in Chief, U.S. Fleet Commander Battle Force
Battle Force Commander Scouting Force
Scouting Force Commander Submarine Force
Submarine Force Commander Base Force
Base Force Commander Battleships, U.S. Fleet
Battleships, U.S. Fleet Commander Battleships, Battle Force
Battleships, Battle Force Commander Battleship Division
Battleship Division Commander Cruisers, U.S. Fleet
Cruisers, U.S. Fleet Commander Cruisers, Scouting Force
Cruisers, Scouting Force Commander Cruisers, Battle Force
Cruisers, Battle Force Commander Cruiser Division
Cruiser Division Commander Destroyers, U.S. Fleet
Destroyers, U.S. Fleet Commander Destroyers, Battle Force
Destroyers, Battle Force Commander Destroyers, Scouting Force
Destroyers, Scouting Force
Destroyer Flotilla Commander Destroyer Division
Destroyer Division Commander Aircraft, U.S. Fleet
Aircraft, U.S. Fleet Commander Aircraft, Battle Force
Aircraft, Battle Force Commander Aircraft, Scouting Force
Aircraft, Scouting Force
Written
CinCUS
ComBatFor
BatFor
ComScoFor
ScoFor
ComSubFor
SubFor
ComBaseFor
BaseFor
ComBatsUS
BatsUS
ComBatShips
BatShips
ComBatDiv
BatDiv
ComCrusUS
CrusUS
ComCruScoFor
CruScoFor
ComCruBatFor
CruBatFor
ComCruDiv
CruDiv
ComDesUS
DesUS
ComDesBatFor
DesBatFor
ComDeScoFor
DeScoFor
DesFlot
ComDesDiv
DesDiv
ComAirUS
AirUS
ComAirBatFor
AirBatFor
ComAirScoFor
AirScoFor
165
Commander Carrier Division
Carrier Division Commander Minecraft, U.S. Fleet
Minecraft, U.S. Fleet Commander Minecraft, Battle Force
Minecraft, Battle Force Commander Mine Squadron
Mine Squadron Commander Mine Division
Mine Division Commander Training Squadron
Training Squadron Commander Submarine, U.S. Fleet
Submarines, U.S. Fleet Commander Submarine Squadron
Submarine Squadron Commander Submarine Division
Submarine Division Commander Train Squadron
Train Squadron Commander in Chief, Asiatic Fleet Commander Yangtze Patrol
Yangtze Patrol Commander South China Patrol
South China Patrol
ComCarDiv
CarDiv
CoMinUS
MinUS
CoMinBatFor
MinBatFor
CoMinRon
MinRon
CoMinDiv
MinDiv
ComDrillRon
DrillRon
ComSubUS
SubUS
ComSubRon
SubRon
ComSubDiv
SubDiv
ComTrainRon
TrainRon
CinCAsiatic
ComYangPat
YangPat
SoPatCom
SoPat
166
APPENDIX III WAR GAMES CONDUCTED AT
THE NAVAL WAR COLLEGE, 1919-1941 KEY (Drawn From Descriptions Used in Game Histories)
|
Situation Key |
|
|
BO |
BLUE/ORANGE |
|
RB |
RED/BLUE |
|
RCB |
RED-CRIMSON/BLUE |
|
BB |
BLUE/BLACK |
|
Game Motive Key |
|
|
CM |
Chart Maneuver |
|
DA |
Daylight Action |
|
NA |
Night Action |
|
TA |
Torpedo Action |
|
SP |
Scouting Problem |
|
CP |
Convoy Problem (Fleet Train/ Advanced B< |
|
Transports) |
|
|
ss |
Scouting and Screening Problem |
|
RI |
Raider Interception |
|
CON |
Concentration of Forces |
|
COM |
Battle Communications |
|
DAA |
Defense Against Aircraft |
|
EST |
Estimate of the Situation |
|
SP |
Strategy of the Pacific |
|
N Northern Route |
|
|
H-P Hawaii/Panama Defense |
|
|
W WesPac through Carolines Base |
|
|
SA |
Strategy of the Atlantic |
|
C Caribbean |
|
|
ow |
Order Writing |
|
BP |
Battle Plans |
|
MPA |
Maneuvering for a Position of Advantage |
|
QD |
Quick Decision Problem |
|
A |
Approach and Deployment for Battle |
|
E |
Engagement Problem |
167
NM Night Maneuver Problem
LOG Logistics Problem
LOC Operations Against Lines of Communication
LO Landing Operations
BL Battleline/Fleet Action
CS Cruiser Screen/Scouting Operations
DS Destroyer Screen Operations
FS Fleet Submarines in the Engagement
SO Screening Operations in the Engagement
AO Aircraft Operations in the Engagement
G Gun Tactical Employment in the Engagement
T Torpedo Tactical Employment in the Engagement
M Mine Tactical Employment in the Engagement
FO Fleet Organization
168
CLASS PROBLEM NO.
SITUATION GAME MOTIVE
|
6/19 |
T.75 |
XI |
BO/BL |
DA/TA/COR |
|
6/19 |
T.74 |
X |
BO/BL |
DA/DAA/COR |
|
6/19 |
S.56 |
VIII |
BO |
SP/OW/EST |
|
6/19 |
T.49 |
IX |
RB/BL |
EST/FS/COR |
|
6/19 |
S.40 |
V |
BO |
EST/OW/SP |
|
22 |
S.57 |
VII |
BO |
EST/OW/SP |
|
6/19 |
T.21 |
VII |
RB/BL |
QD/MPA |
|
6/19 |
T.7 |
V |
RB/BL |
G/T/M |
|
6/19 |
T.7 |
VI |
RB/BL |
DA/SS/COR |
|
6/19 |
T.2 |
III |
RB/BL |
MPA/EST |
|
6/19 |
T.2 |
I |
RB/BL |
BP/EST/MPA |
|
22 |
S.57/T.91 |
VII-X |
BO/BL |
|
|
22 |
S.66 |
V |
BO |
OW/EST/SO |
|
22 |
S.67 |
VI |
BO |
SP-N |
|
6/19 |
Tac.2 |
IV |
RB/BL |
EST/BP/SS |
|
6/19 |
S&S.20 |
IV |
o BO/C-D-F-80 S BO/C-D |
CP/OW/EST |
|
6/19 |
S&S.5 |
II |
CP/SO |
|
|
6/19 |
S&S.9 |
III |
BO/C-D |
CP/SO |
|
6/19 |
T.53 |
VIII |
RB/BL |
EST/COR/DS-110 |
|
6/19 |
S&S.la |
I |
BO |
CP/SO |
|
6/19 |
T.76 |
XII |
RB/BL |
A/NM |
|
6/19 |
T.77 |
XIII |
RB/BL |
QD/MPA |
|
12/19 |
S&S.l |
I |
BO |
SO/CP |
|
12/19 |
S.57 |
IX |
BO |
EST/OW/SP |
|
12/19 |
S.58 |
VII |
BO/BL |
EST/SP-W |
|
12/19 |
S.40 |
VI |
BO |
EST/SP |
|
12/19 |
S.36 |
V |
BO |
EST/SP-H-P |
|
6/20 |
S&S.9 |
III |
BO |
CP/SO |
|
6/20 |
S&S.5 |
II |
BO |
CP/SO |
|
6/20 |
S&S.l |
I |
BO |
CP/SO |
|
6/20 |
S.57 |
IX |
BO |
EST/CP/SP |
|
6/20 |
S.56 |
VIII |
BO |
EST/OW/SP |
|
6/20 |
S.40 |
VI |
BO |
EST/OW/SP |
|
6/20 |
S.49 |
IV |
BO |
LOG |
|
6/20 |
S.43 |
I |
BO |
EST/CP/SP-H |
|
6/20 |
S.35 |
III |
BO |
EST/SP |
|
12/19 |
S&S.20 |
IV |
BO |
CP |
|
6/20 |
T.77 |
XIII |
RB/BL |
QD |
|
6/20 |
T.78 |
VII |
RB/BL |
EST/FS/DS |
|
6/20 |
T.27 |
VI |
RB/BL |
COR/SS/AO |
|
6/20 |
T.26 |
V |
RB/BL |
M/COR/EST |
|
6/20 |
Tac.12 |
IV |
OB/BL |
BP/DS/EST |
|
6/20 |
T.10 |
I |
RB/BL |
MPA/EST |
|
6/20 |
T.49 |
IX |
RB/BL |
BP/OW/EST |
|
6/20 |
T.81 |
X |
BO/BL |
CP |
|
12/19 |
S.43 |
I |
BO |
EST/CP |
169
CLASS PROBLEM NO.
SITUATION GAME MOTIVE
|
12/19 |
T.27 |
VI |
RB/BL |
COR/DA/SS/DS |
|
12/19 |
T.26 |
V |
RB/BL |
G-T-M |
|
12/19 |
T74 |
X |
BO/BL |
COR/DA/EST/BP |
|
12/19 |
T.79 |
XI |
RB/BL |
EST/M/CON |
|
12/19 |
T.71 |
VII |
RB/BL |
QD/MPA |
|
12/19 |
T.81 |
XIV |
OB |
SO/CP |
|
12/20 |
S&S.l |
I |
BO |
SO/CP |
|
12/19 |
T.10 |
I |
RB/BL |
EST/MPA/BP |
|
12/20 |
S&S.21 |
IV |
RB/CS-FS |
EST/LOC |
|
12/20 |
S&S.9 |
III |
BO |
EST/OW/CP |
|
12/19 |
T.13 |
III |
RB/BL |
MPA/EST |
|
12/19 |
T.14 |
II |
RB/BL |
EST/Red Superior Skill |
|
12/20 |
T.10 |
I |
RB/BL |
EST/MA |
|
12/20 |
S.63 |
VI |
RB |
SA/EST/OW |
|
12/20 |
S.62 |
V |
RB |
EST/CP/LO |
|
12/20 |
T.14 |
II |
RB/BL |
EST/Red Superior Skill |
|
12/20 |
T.26 |
IV |
RB/BL |
EST/COR/BP |
|
12/21 |
T.27 |
V |
RB/BL |
SS/COR-D-B |
|
12/20 |
T.78 |
VI |
RB/BL |
EST/DS/ASN |
|
12/20 |
T.77 |
VII |
RB/BL |
QD |
|
12/20 |
S.35 |
III |
RB |
SA/EST |
|
12/20 |
S.44 |
II |
RB |
ow |
|
12/20 |
S.43 |
I |
BO |
EST/SP-H/CP |
|
6/20 |
T.82 |
XV |
RB/SP |
SO/AO/D-C-S |
|
21 |
T.49 |
VIII |
RB/BL |
EST/A |
|
22 |
S.68/T.88 |
V-VII |
BO/BL |
|
|
22 |
S.57/T.91 |
VII-X |
BO/BL |
LO |
|
21 |
S.64/T83 |
BO |
SP |
|
|
22 |
T.86 |
V |
BO |
CP/D-C-S |
|
6/19 |
S.49 |
VII |
BO/LOG |
LOC/CP/Fuel |
|
22 |
S&S.5 |
II |
BO/CP |
LOC/C-S |
|
22 |
T.86 |
V |
BO/SP/CP |
D-C-A-S |
|
12/19 |
S.49 |
IV |
BO/LOG |
LOC/CP/Fuel |
|
22 |
T.87 |
VI |
RB/BL |
QD-Based on Jutland |
|
22 |
T.85 |
IV |
BO/FO |
FS/A |
|
6/19 |
III |
S&S.9 |
BO/CP |
C-D-F-S |
|
22 |
S&S.l |
I |
BO/SO |
CP/C-D-S |
|
22 |
T.84 |
III |
BO/BL |
Fleet Standing Order MPA/BP/COR-C/D/B |
|
22 |
T.89 |
VIII |
BO/FO |
QD/A-M-S/Treaty Navy |
|
22 |
T.90 |
IX |
BO/CP |
SO/D-A-C-S |
|
22 |
S.65 |
III |
BO/ |
EST/COR-Army SP-P |
|
22 |
S.44 |
II |
BO/ |
OW |
|
22 |
S.49 |
IV |
BO/LOG |
Trains Ops |
|
23 |
T.96 |
V |
BP/CP-BL |
SO "Battle of the Marianas" |
|
21 |
S.35 |
VII |
BO/ |
EST/SP |
|
21 |
S&S.5 |
II |
BO/SO |
CP |
|
21 |
S.35 |
VII |
BO/ |
pcnr/.SP |
170
CLASS PROBLEM NO.
SITUATION GAME MOTIVE
|
12/20 |
S.49 |
IV |
BO/LOG |
|
|
23 |
S.71 |
I |
BO |
SP/BP-A |
|
23 |
S.70 |
B |
BO |
EST/OW/SP |
|
23 |
S.72 |
II |
BO/SO |
A-C-D-S |
|
23 |
S.74 |
III |
BO |
SP/BP-A |
|
23 |
S.75 |
IV |
BO |
SP-Formosa |
|
23 |
S.76 |
V-A |
BO |
SP/BP-A |
|
23 |
S.76 |
V-B |
BO/LOG |
Fleet Supply Schedule |
|
23 |
T.92 |
II |
RB/BL |
EST/BP-A-D-E |
|
23 |
T.93 |
III |
RB |
EST/FS & BL |
|
23 |
T.96 |
V |
BO/BL & Train |
EST |
|
23 |
T.94 |
IV |
RB/BL |
Battle of the Emerald Bank |
|
(w. essentially same nos. |
as Sable Is. |
, Blue lost ALL BBs in action, and Red had 1 1 |
||
|
BBs and 1 CC at end.) |
||||
|
24 |
S.79 combined |
VI |
BO |
SP-14 day prep, from H |
|
24 |
T.79 |
IV |
BO |
SP-G-M-T-A |
|
24 |
S.75 |
V |
BO |
SP-NJaps in Petropavlovsk LO Avacha Bay |
|
24 |
8.74 A&B games |
IV |
BO |
|
|
24 |
S&S.5 |
III |
BO/CP |
Base Screening & SO for CP |
|
24 |
S.72 |
II |
BO/Search Ops. |
|
|
24 |
S.77 |
"B" |
BO |
EST/OW/SP Low visibility |
|
24 |
T.10/Mod.8 |
I |
RB/BL |
EST/A/MPA/COM |
|
24 |
T.10/Mod.9 "The Battle of Sable Island" |
II |
RCB/BL |
BP/A-D/DS-CS |
|
24 |
T.96 "The Battle of Siargao" |
III |
BO/CP-SO |
DS-CS/FS-M-AO |
|
25 |
T.96 |
III |
B-O Convoy Exercise |
CP/SO |
|
25 |
T.98 |
II |
RB/BL |
C (Trinidad) |
|
25 |
S.80/T.101 |
J/P.I |
BO |
|
|
25 |
S.74/Mod.l |
V |
BO |
(Anti-Landing Phil.) |
|
25 |
S.76/Mod.2 |
IV |
BO/LOG |
Fuel Sup. Schedule |
|
25 |
S&S.5/Mod.7 |
V |
BO/CP |
Base SO & SO for CP |
|
25 |
S.77 |
"B" |
BO |
EST/OW/SP |
|
25 |
S.72/Mod.2 |
II |
BO/SO |
Jap. Home Waters |
|
26 |
S.72/Mod.3 |
II |
BO/SO |
|
|
26 |
S.69/Mod.2 |
"A" |
B-B/SA |
|
|
26 |
S.77.Mod.2 |
"B" |
BO/SP |
EST/OW |
171
CLASS PROBLEM NO.
SITUATION GAME MOTIVE
|
26 |
S&S.1.2 |
I |
BO/CP |
SO/CS-DS |
|
26 |
S&S.5.8 |
III |
BO/CP |
Base SO & SO for CP |
|
26 |
S.74.2 |
BO/SP |
||
|
26 JP |
Ops. 1.2 |
I |
BO/SP |
Los Visibility |
|
26 |
T.10.8 |
I |
RB/BL |
EST/A.MPA/COM |
|
26 |
T.101 |
III |
BO |
EST/Convoy attack/ CS-DS |
|
26 |
T.102 |
IV |
BO/BL |
BP/M-AO |
|
27 |
S.72.4 |
I |
BO/SO |
|
|
27 |
S.77.3 |
"B" |
BO/SP |
EST/OW |
|
27 |
"C" |
BO/CP |
EST/OW/SP-H |
|
|
27 |
Ops.I (ex-S&S 5.9) |
BO/CP |
SO (Base & CP) |
|
|
27 |
Ops. II |
BO/SP |
||
|
27 27 |
T.104 Chart Man.l (S&S 1.3) |
I |
BO BO |
EST |
|
29 Sr. |
QD Problems: |
|||
|
// |
II |
OB/BL |
||
|
// |
III |
OB/BL |
||
|
// |
IV |
OB/BL |
||
|
// |
V |
RB/BL |
||
|
ft |
VI |
OB/BL: Offenj |
>ive screen 3CC/3BB |
|
|
30 Sr. |
QD Problems: |
|||
|
// |
"B" |
RB/BL: Part 3 Blue BBs/5 Red BBs |
||
|
// |
"A" |
OB/BL: Van forces 4-3BBs |
||
|
// |
"D" |
OB/BL: melee |
||
|
// |
"C" |
OB/BL |
||
|
31 Sr. |
QD Problems: |
|||
|
// |
"A" |
OB/van/3/3 |
||
|
// |
"B" |
RB/van/3/5 |
||
|
// |
"D" |
OB/BL |
||
|
28 |
Ops. 3 |
III |
Sp.Sit.BLACK |
LO (Newport,N.Bedford) |
|
28 |
Search Problem |
BO/SO |
DS-CS |
|
|
28 |
S&S 1.4 |
C.M.I. |
BO/CP |
SO |
|
28 |
Ops 2 Sr. |
II |
BO/CP |
SO-Base & CP |
|
28 Sr. |
Ops. 5 |
V |
BO/SP |
|
|
28 Sr. |
Ops. 4 |
IV |
BO/SP |
(Trans Pac: S & T) |
|
28 Sr. |
T. 104.1 |
I |
BO/BL |
EST |
|
28 Jr. |
II |
|||
|
29 Sr. |
Ops. 3 |
III |
BO/Blue LOC/SO/Orange Bases |
|
|
(S.II, T.IV) |
flanking |
|||
|
29 Sr. |
Ops. 2 |
II |
BO/SO/CP |
EST/OW |
|
29 Sr. |
Ops. 4 (S.IV/T.VI) |
IV |
BO/Phil.def. |
Joint A-N COR |
|
29 Sr. |
Ops. 5 |
V |
BO/Initial Phase: |
|
|
(S.V/T.VII) |
Bases for TransPac Advance |
172
CLASS PROBLEM NO.
SITUATION GAME MOTIVE
|
29 Sr. |
Ops. 6 (NWC/AWC) |
VI |
BO/LO-forced, Phil./M-AO |
|
29 Sr. |
T.104.1 |
I |
BO/ EST/Chart & Board Maneuver of TE 1 |
|
29 Sr. |
T.2 |
II |
BO/QD |
|
29 Sr. |
T.4 |
IV |
BO/BL |
|
29 Sr. |
T.5 |
V |
RB/BL |
|
29 Sr. |
S.7 |
VII |
RB |
|
30 Sr. |
Ops. 4 |
IV |
RB/-C & Panama Transit for BL |
|
30 Sr. |
Ops. 3 |
III |
BO/-Phil. battle O-North/B-South |
|
(w.Jr. i |
ifter one mo. play) |
||
|
30 Sr. |
T.l |
I |
BO/CP B leaving Truk |
|
30 Sr. |
Ops. II |
RB |
|
|
30 Sr. |
Ops. I |
OB/ Asiatic Fl.-Phil. Def. |
|
|
30 Sr. |
Tac. I |
OB/BL EST/BP & battle |
|
|
30 Sr. |
QD: |
||
|
"A" Tac.2 |
OB/5 |
||
|
// |
"B" Tac.3 |
RB |
|
|
n |
"C Tac.4 |
OB |
|
|
31 Sr. |
Tac. I |
OB/BL EST/BP & battle |
|
|
30 Sr. |
Sect. V |
OB/SP |
|
|
30 Sr. |
Ops. VI |
OB/LO-Support Group |
|
|
31 Sr. |
Ops. IV |
OB/SP |
|
|
31 Sr. |
Ops. Ill |
RB/SA |
|
|
31 Sr. |
Ops. I |
OB/SP |
|
|
31 Sr. |
Ops. II |
OB/SP S. Phil. CP |
|
|
31 Sr. |
Ops. Ill |
RB/SA |
|
|
32 Sr. |
Tac. I |
OB/CP |
|
|
32 Sr. |
Tac. II |
OB |
|
|
32 Sr. |
Tac. Ill |
OB |
|
|
32 Sr. |
Tac. IV |
RB/B superiority 3:2 BL |
|
|
32 Sr. |
Tac. V |
RB/BL |
|
|
"The Battle of Sable Island" |
|||
|
32 Sr. |
Tac. VI |
OB |
|
|
32 Sr. |
Ops. I |
OB/ Asiatic Fl.LOC/Phil.Def. |
|
|
32 Sr. |
Ops. II |
OB/Suez LOC |
|
|
32 Sr. |
Ops. Ill |
RB/R-SLOC in Indian S.Atl./SA/Plan changes in course of play |
|
|
32 Sr. |
Ops. IV |
OB |
|
|
32 Sr. |
Ops. V |
Revision of IV Movement Trans-Pac |
|
|
32 Sr. |
QD: |
||
|
"A" |
OB/ 3 Blue BBs/5 Orange BBs |
||
|
// |
"C" |
OB/4 Blue BBs/6 Orange BBs |
|
|
rt |
"E" |
RB/6 Blue BBs/4 Red BBs |
|
|
33 Sr. |
Ops. I |
BO/Trans-Pac |
|
|
33 Sr. |
Ops. II |
BO/S.Phil.def. Area control/LOC/LOG |
|
|
33 Sr. |
Ops.IV/Tac.V |
BO |
|
|
34 Sr. |
Ops. V |
BO/Trans-Pac 1 yr. after host. |
173
CLASS PROBLEM NO.
SITUATION GAME MOTIVE
|
34 Sr. |
Ops.IV/ Tac.IV |
RB-2nd phase |
-EastLant |
|
34 Sr. |
Ops. II |
OB/ Asiatic Fit |
:. EST/Ops.Plan |
|
34 Sr. |
Ops. Ill |
OB/ 2nd stage- convoys LOC |
■BF awaiting Ind.O. |
|
34J.&S. |
Ops. I |
OB |
|
|
34 Sr. |
Tac. I |
OB |
|
|
34 Sr. |
QD: |
||
|
"A" |
OB/ 3 Blue BBs/ 3 Orange BBs |
||
|
// |
"C" |
OB/7 Blue BBs/9 Orange BBs |
|
|
// |
"E" |
RB/11 Blue BBs/9 Red BBs |
|
|
34 Sr. |
Tac. VI |
OB/U.S. & U.S.S.R. vs. Japan (Java Sea/Kamchatka) |
|
|
34 Sr. |
Tac. V |
RB/WestLant |
, Sable Is.(BL) |
|
34 Sr. |
Tac. Ill (Ops.III) |
OB |
|
|
34 Sr. |
Tac. II |
OB |
CP 4 Blue BBs/ 5 Orange BBs Detachment N. of Truk |
|
33 Sr. |
Ops. Ill |
RB |
SLOC attack on Red (Azores) |
|
33 Sr. |
Tac. I |
OB |
BL-0-CCs(3) B-BBs(3) |
|
33 Sr. |
Tac. II |
OB |
BL/EST/BP-0(7) -B(5) |
|
33 Sr. |
Tac. Ill |
RB |
BL(MainBodies:12-12) |
|
33 Sr. |
Tac. IV |
RB |
BL/Full MB: 15-15 |
|
"Battle of |
N.Atl.springtime |
||
|
Sable Is." |
condition |
||
|
35 Sr. |
Tac. II |
OB |
BP/EST (Truk, B base) Blue-5BB;Orange;4 BBs |
|
35 Sr. |
Tac. Ill |
RB |
EST/OW/BL (Halifax 15-15) |
|
35 Sr. |
Strat. II |
OB |
CINCAF prob./EST |
|
35 Sr. |
Tac. I |
OB |
Relief of Phil. (Manila) |
|
linked to Strat.I |
BL detachments (3 Orange CCs; 3 Blue BBs) |
||
|
35 Sr. |
QD: |
Blue Orange |
|
|
&Jr. |
"A" |
OB |
3 BBs 5BBs |
|
// |
"B" |
OB |
6 BBs 9 BBs |
|
/• |
"C" |
OB |
6 BBs 6 BBs |
|
t? |
"D" |
OB |
4 BBs 6 BBs |
|
// |
"E" |
OB |
4 BBs 6 BBs |
|
// |
»F» |
OB |
6 BBs 6 BBs |
|
// |
"G" |
OB |
Night Raid |
|
35 Sr. |
Ops. I |
OB |
SP/CP/begins after advanced base in Dumanquilas |
174
CLASS PROBLEM NO.
35 Sr. 35 Sr.
36 Sr. 36 Sr.
36 Sr.
36 Sr. 36 Sr.
36 Sr.
36S&J
36 Sr. 36 Sr.
36 Sr. 36 Sr. 36 Sr. 36 Sr. 36 Sr.
37S&J 37 Sr.
SITUATION GAME MOTIVE
Ops. II Ops. Ill
Tac. IV
Strat. II Tac. I
RB OB
OB
RB OB
Tac. II
Tac. Ill Tac. V
QD:
"A" "C" "D" "G"
OB
RB OB
OB
OB
Blue vs. Blue
OB
(Night Light Force/Orange attack)
T
RB
Raid on U.S. Coast
"K"
Night Light Force attack
on BLUE MB & Train
"L"
Ops. I
1 mo.Ops.by Blue against Orange
commence in Brown area & SE Asia
Ops. II OB
RB
OB OB
Ops. Ill
OB
Ops. IV OB
(Blue MB as Dumanquilas; 3 convoys to
Suez; Orange to intercept)
Strat. I OB
Strat. II RB
Crimson Neutral/Red
Carib. Off.
TransPac/EST/OW/
Strat. Areas/Fleet
Composition
Blue MB from Truk to
Phil.
Cruiser action (San Bernardino Str.) escort force for convoy to Manila/ 3 Blue BBs/ 3 Orange BBs CP (5 Blue BBs, 9 Orange CAs) near Truk EST/OW/BL Fleet Battle U.S. Fleet divided, Orange Off. TransPac before Blue can reunite near CZ Blue Orange 3 BBs 5 BBs
7 BBs 6 BBs
8 BBs 8 BBs
12 BBs 6 LCs & 12 DesDivs./49 DDs
CA/DD scouting forces
Blue Red
13 DDs 3 CAs/ 3 BBs
Blue Orange
9 BBs 3 CLs/35 DDs West Pac: Flt.comp. EST/OW/Strat.areas
AB in East or South China Seas/cut Orange SLOCS
Same as Ops. I & II Battle off "Pellew" as Blue MB nears Phil. Same as Ops I/II/III arrive from U.S. via
Same as 1936 Ops. Blue raiding of Indian Ocean SLOCs weakens Flt;Red assumes offensive
175 CLASS PROBLEM NO. SITUATION GAME MOTIVE
37 Sr. Tac. II B-White (a hypothetical Fit. like
Orange to Blue, but larger)
37 Sr. Tac. Ill OB CP N. of Truk/Orange
(Orange Superior: 7:5 BBs) force Truk to
Dumanquilas
37 Sr. Tac. IV RB Red MB on offensive to
keep Blue from taking Halifax
37 Sr. Ops. I OB Same as 1936 Ops. Blue
CA raiding Orange SLOCs in S. China Seas
37 Sr. Ops. II OB Same as Ops.I; advance of
Blue MB on Truk
37 Sr. Ops. Ill OB Purple called pot. ally of
Blue/Blue MB from Truk to Phil.
37 Sr. Ops. IV OB Blue MB convoy prot.
Dumanquilas to Suez route
37 Sr. QD:
"A" OB Orange 5 BBs/Blue 3 BBs
plus fort.
37 Sr. "B" OB Orange 9 BBs/Blue 7 BBs
scattered by fog "C" OB Orange 6 BBs/Blue 6 BBs
scattered by fog "D" Indigo 8 BBs/Pink 8 BBs
(all Blue 48 type BB) "J" RB Blue 5 CAs/Red 7 CAs,
3CCs "M" OB Orange 6 CCs, 39 DDs/
Blue 12 BBs, Night Torp.
action "P" OB Orange 4 CLs, 36 DDs/
Blue 10 BBs "N" RB Blue 6 CAs, Red 2 CCs
convoy, raiding force
38 Sr. Ops.I(Tac) OB Aleutians; 3 BBs each 38 Sr. Ops.II(Strat) RB SA Caribbean
BP defensive campaign 38 Sr. Ops.III(Strat) OB SP Indian Ocean/
S.China Sea/EST/Ops. Plan 38 Sr. Ops.IV(Tac) OB BP Truk area familiariza-
tion, safeguarding of Oahu-Dumanquilas route
176
CLASS PROBLEM NO.
SITUATION GAME MOTIVE
38 Sr. Ops.V(Strat.) OB
-sub-problem: Defense of Atoll Advanced Bases Ponape -sub-problem: Attack on Isalnd
Advanced Base 38 Sr. Ops. VI (Tac.) RB
38 Sr. Ops. VII
OB
SP Central & West Pac Control of West Pac US to capture (1) Eniwetok (2) Ponape (3) Truk
Battle off Sable Is. 4 Blue BBs over 60%
damage 12 Red BBs over 60%
damage SP/control of Phil./ China Sea
(Silver & Black aiding Orange) sub-problem: defense of an Island Group (Yap)/when Blue Fit. passes meridian 134°E., Brown ally of Blue
|
38 Sr. |
Op. VIII (Tac.) |
OB |
Blue: 6 BBs, 8 CAs covering AB: Staring Bay in Celebes Orange: 9 BBs, 7 CAs seeking decisive action |
|
38 Sr. |
QD: |
||
|
"A" |
OB |
4 Blue BBs, 6 Orange BBs Blue coastal fort. |
|
|
// |
"B" |
OB |
8 Blue BBs, 9 Orange BBs |
|
// |
T |
RB |
5 Red CAs, 5 Blue BBs in WestLant |
|
^/ |
"€" |
OB |
6 Blue BBs, 6 Orange BBs |
|
rr |
"M" |
OB |
Blue BatFor, 6 CLs, 39DDs Orange convoy 12 BBs SP/Night Torp. attack |
|
38 Sr. |
Strat.QD |
RB |
U.S. assualt on Trinidad, |
|
Problem S-l |
Br. attempted simul.relief each 3 BBs, 4 CAs, 2-3 CVs in covering & escort forces |
||
|
38 Sr. |
Strat.QD |
OB |
Relief of Wake by U.S., |
|
Problem S-2 |
appr.complete MBs both Fits |
||
|
39 Sr. |
Ops. I (Tac.) |
OB |
SP Aleutian (D.H.) Unalaska Base CP |
|
39 Sr. |
Ops. II(Strat.) |
RB |
SA-Carib.control of |
|
39 Sr. |
Ops.III(Strat.) |
OB |
Raid on Orange SLOCs Blue CAs & 1 CV Indian Ocean, China Seas |
|
39 Sr. |
Ops. IV (Tac.) |
OB |
BP/Truk |
177
|
CLASS |
PROBLEM |
|
39 Sr. |
Ops. V(Strat.) |
|
39 Sr. |
Ops. VI (Tac.) |
|
39S&J |
OPS. VII |
|
39 Sr. |
QD "A" |
|
rr |
"B" "N-1" low visibility "S-1" |
NO. SITUATION GAME MOTIVE
OB SP-Cent.&W.-control of.
Orange holds atolls-MB
at Saipan;Blue MB at
Pearl RB EST/SCS/To familiarize
w/N.Atlantic Area OB/Have been at war 2 yrs. Blue-Brown Secret Alliance
OB
OB OB
RB
British w/20,000 troops in 4 fast (25 kt.) liners, 3 CCs, 2 CVs, 4 CAs attempting to reinforce Trinidad, which already has 7,000 troops
|
40 Sr. |
Ops. I (Tac.) |
OB |
|
40 Sr. 40 Sr. |
Ops. II (Strat.) Ops.III(Strat.) |
RB OB |
|
40 Sr. |
Ops. IV (Tac.) |
OB |
|
41S&J |
Ops. I (Tac.) |
OB |
|
41 Sr. |
Ops. II(Strat.) |
Blue/ Black- Silver |
|
41 Sr. |
Ops. Ill (Strat.) (one-sided) |
OB |
|
41S&J |
Ops. IV (Tac.) |
OB |
Orange 5 BBs, Blue 3 BBs and fort, port 6 BBs each
Blue 9 BBs, Orange 4 LCs 39DDs
Amphib.assault on Trinidad: 2 CVs, 3 BBs covering force/ 4CAs support attack force of 10 XAPs w/20,000 troops.
CP/Unalaska, Dutch Harbor EST-Aleutians EST/Carib Control of Raid on Orange SLOCs EST/WestPac, China Sea 5 Blue BBs, 6 Orange BBs EST/Truk/BP EST-Aleutians/CP Unalaska, D.H.3 BBs/ Orange Interception 3 BBs
Black in N.Atl.,Narvik, Iceland; Silver-Gold in Med. to sortie to S.Amer.; Gold bases in Cairb. Monopoly of S.A. Trade SP-minus new Atl. Fit. Orange threatening Aleutian- Wake-Samoa line/ Blue must take Eniwetok (C & M)
SP-EST-Mid-Pacific
Defense of Truk/ Commitments in Atlantic-Brazil prevent Blue offensive/Blue losses high, Japanese low/Jap.attack w/BBs, 2 Blue BBs
178
CLASS PROBLEM
NO.
SITUATION GAME MOTIVE
41 S&J Ops. V(Strat.)
41S&J
Com- mand Class Aug/ Dec 41
OB EST/WestPac, China Sea
Raid on Orange SLOCs Blue fully committed in Atl., unable to force decision in Pac. Red neutral. Blue has Truk to hold line to Aus./4 CAs, 1 CV from Truk to Java Sea Ops. VI (Tac) Black- Raider Warfare/CP
Silver
Blue-Red Black holds Eire, has "High Seas Fleet" of 5 BBs 1 CV at Trondheim/Blue has 3 BBs in Atl. Ops.II (Strat.) Blue-Red/ against a
Black-Silver-Gold Coalition
Black monopoly of Argentina/Uruguay/Brazil trade Blue 3 BBs, 1 CV in So. Atl. "Brazilian Focal Area" Black-Silver-Gold coalition 3 BBs, 1 CC, 2 CVs
41 CC Ops. II (Tac.)
OB Truk defense against
Orange 4 BBs, 2 CV, 9 CAs/Blue 2 No. Carolina Class BBs, 4 CAs, 1 CV, 27 DD, 6 SS 41 CC Ops.III(Strat.) OB Raid on Orange SLOCs
Rendezvous 19 June, Coral Sea: destination, 1 July, 50 mi. SE of Singapore/ Blue 4 CAs, 1 CV in Java Sea 41 CC Ops. IV (Tac.) Blue-Red/Balck No. Atlantic/CP
Blue-Red convoy, 40 ships, 5 BB cover/Black 5 BB, 1 CV
Night search & attack
Blue 9 BB/Orange 4 CA,
32 DD (low visibility off
Truk)
Blue 3 BBs, 4 CAs, 1 CV
|
Com- mand & |
QD "N-l" |
OB |
|
Prep. Staff |
||
|
Class |
||
|
"S-l" continued in |
Blue/ Silver- |
|
|
"S-2" |
Gold Blue/ Silver- Gold |
"Deny Axis bases in E. Carib." Silver, 1 BB, 6 CA/Gold 1 CC, 1 CV
179 NOTES
PART I— ETHOS
1. Carroll N. Brown, Greek-English Dictionary (New York: Enossis Publishing, 1924).
CHAPTER I-THE NATURE OF ETHOS
1. E. Adamson Hoebal, The Cheyennes: Indians of the Great Plains (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, I960), p.87.
2. R. Redfield, The Primitive World and Its Transformations (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1953), p.86.
3. E. Adamson Hoebal, Anthropology: The Study of Man (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1958), p. 542.
4. Clyde Kluckhohn, "The Philosophy of the Navaho Indians," F.S.C. Northrop, ed., Ideological Differences and World Order (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1949), p. 359.
5. Hoebal, The Cheyennes, p. 87.
6. John A. Hostetler and Gertrude Enders Huntington, The Hutterites in North America (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1967), p. 6.
7. Clyde Kluckhohn and William H. Kelly, "The Concept of Culture," Alan Dundes, ed., Every Man His Way: Readings in Cultural Anthropology (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1968), p. 205.
8. Florence Rockwood Kluckhohn, "Dominant and Variant Value Orientations," Kluckhohn, et al., eds., Personality in Nature, Society, and Culture (New York: Knopf, 1953); Kluckhohn and Kelly, "The Concept of Culture."
9. Hoebal, The Cheyennes, pp. 95-104; Kluckhohn, et al., eds., Personality in Nature, Society, and Culture, pp. 3-71.
CHAPTER II-THE NATIONAL ETHOS
1. J.H. Elliott, The Old World and the New, 1492-1650 (Cambridge, Eng.: Cambridge University Press, 1972), p. 104.
2. Vernon Louis Parrington, Main Currents in American Thought: Vol. I, The Colonial Mind, 1620-1800 (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1927), p. ix.
3. Richard Hofstadter, The Age of Reform (New York: Vintage Books, 1955), pp. 23-25.
4. C. Vann Woodward, "The Age of Reinterpretation," The American Historical Review , October I960, pp. 1-19; Hofstadter, pp. 326-328.
5. Henry Nash Smith, The Virgin Land: The American West as Symbol and Myth (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1950), p. 12.
6. Alexander Hamilton, "The Utility of the Union in Respect to Commercial Relations and a Navy," The federalist, or The New Constitution (Avon, Conn.: Heritage Press, 1945), p. 70.
7. Ibid., p. 69.
8. Felix Gilbert, To the farewell Address: The Beginnings of American foreign Policy (New York: Harper and Row, 1965), p. 114.
9. William Gilpin, Mission of the North American People, Social, Geographical, Political (Philadelphia: 1874), p. 130. Quoted in Smith, p. 37.
10. Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass (Avon, Conn.: Heritage Press, 1937), pp. 225-226.
11. Frances Trollope, Domestic Manners of the Americans (London: The Folio Society, 1974), pp. 54-55.
12. James Fenimore Cooper to Commodore William Bradford Shubrick, 30 April 1847; Cooper to Shubrick, 25 September 1847. Quoted in James Franklin Beard, ed., The Letters and Journals of James Fenimore Cooper (Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1968), v. V, pp. 206-207, 236-237.
13- A.T. Mahan, From Sail to Steam: Recollections of Naval Life (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1907), p.„197.
14. Oscar Wilde, "The Canterville Ghost," The Short Stories of Oscar Wilde (Avon, Conn.: Heritage Press, 1968), p. 144.
15. Frederick Jackson Turner, "The Significance of the Frontier in American History," in Everett E. Edwards, ed., The Early Writings of Frederick Jackson Turner (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1938).
180
CHAPTER III-THE CORPORATE ETHOS
1. Adm. Albert Gleaves, "Background," Autobiographical Manuscript (Unpublished), Gleaves Papers, Naval Historical Foundation, Library of Congress (hereafter NHF), p. 1.
2. A.T. Mahan, From Sail to Steam: Recollections of Naval Life (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1907), p. 69.
3. Ibid., p. 65.
4. Ibid., p. 66.
5. Rear Adm. Julius Augustus Furer to Capt. Philip F. Wakeman, 22 April 1961, Furer Papers, NHF.
6. Mahan, p. 74.
7. A.B. Anderson to Capt. Dudley W. Knox, 28 September 1935, Knox Papers, NHF.
8. Gleaves, "Background," Gleaves Papers, NHF, p. 2.
9. Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass (Avon, Conn.: Heritage Press, 1937), p. 508.
10. Furer to Theodore E. Stevenson, 13 March 1959, Furer Papers, NHF.
11. Adm. William Sowden Sims, Journal, June to August 1877, Sims Papers, NHF.
12. Mahan, p. 105.
13. Ibid., p. 48.
14. Capt. J. K. Taussig, "The Old Navy," Navy Day Annual, 1937 (Seattle: Master Mechanics Association, 1937), Record Group II, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC).
15. Miscellany, Gleaves Papers; Miscellany, Taylor Papers, NHF.
16. Furer to Stevenson, 13 March 1959, Furer Papers, NHF.
17. Mahan, p. 101.
18. Herman Melville, Typee: A Romance of the South Seas (Avon, Conn.: Heritage Press, 1935), p. 3.
19. Adm. Albert Gleaves, "On the Road to China," Autobiographical Manuscript (Unpublished), Gleaves Papers, NHF, p. 14; Melville, p. 256.
20. James O. Richardson and George C. Dyer, On the Treadmill to Pearl Harbor (Washington: Dept. of the Navy, Naval History Division, 1973).
21. Adm. Harry E. Yarnell, "Sons of Gunboats," Yarnell Papers, NHF.
22. Ibid., pp. 4-8; Marcus Goodrich, Delilah (New York: Popular Library, 1978, originally published in 1941).
23. Martin Swanson to Adm. Harry E. Yarnell, 3 June 1942, Yarnell Papers, NHF.
24. Yarnell to Swanson, 8 June 1942, Yarnell Papers, NHF.
25. Clifford Calfinch to Adm. Ernest J. King, 22 January 1941, King Papers, NHF.
26. King to Calfinch, 16 February 1941, King Papers, NHF.
27. Gleaves, "Background," Gleaves Papers, NHF.
28. Alfred Thayer Mahan, The Life of Nelson: The Embodiment of the Sea Power of Great Britain (Boston: Little, Brown, 1897), p. 343.
29. Holloway H. Frost, The Battle of Jutland (Annapolis: The Naval Press, 1936), pp. 375, 514, 516, and others. See author's "The Fishing Off the Jutland Bank: The Search for a Symbol of Victory," Unpublished Senior Essay, History Department, Yale University, New Haven, Conn.: 1973.
30. Mahan, The Life of Nelson, pp. 354, 396-400.
31. Mahan, From Sail to Steam, p. 124.
32. Furer Papers, King Papers, Bloch Papers, Yarnell Papers, NHF.
33- "Five and Fifty Years (Sam Wygant's Saga)," 24 March 1956, Furer Papers, NHF.
34. "Destroyer Men," Sims Papers, NHF.
35. "Spanish Ladies," Luce Papers, NHF.
36. J.V. Babcock to Dudley W. Knox, 16 December 1933, Knox Papers, NHF.
CHAPTER IV-MISSION AND ETHOS
1. Kenneth Bourne, "British Preparations for War with the North, 1861-1862," The English Historical Review, October 1961, pp. 600-632.
2. George Washington, Fifth Annual Address to Congress, 8 December 1793, in John C. Fitzpatrick, ed., The Writings of George Washington (Washington: U.S. Govt. Print. Off., 1931- 1944), v. XXXIII, pp. 165-169.
3. Seward W. Livermore, "American Naval Development, 1898-1914," Unpublished Dissertation, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass.: 1944.
181
4. Craig Symonds, "The Antinavalists, the Opponents of Naval Expansion in the Early National Period," The American Neptune, January 1979, pp. 22-27 '.
5. Howard I. Chapelle, American Neptune, The History of the American Sailing Navy (New York: Norton, 1949), pp. 179-242.
6. Alexander Hamilton, "The Utility of the Union in Respect to Commercial Relations and a Navy," The Federalist, or the New Constitution (Avon, Conn.: Heritage Press, 1945), p. 64.
7. Ibid., p. 68.
8. Ibid., p. 65.
9. Ibid., p. 66.
10. Ibid., p. 70.
11. Charles A. Beard, "The National Interest," 8 January 1935, Knox Papers, Naval Historical Foundation, Library of Congress, (hereafter NHF), p. 10.
12. Ibid., p. 9.
13. Ibid., p. 6.
14. Ibid., p. 8.
15. The products of Knox's pen included:
Annual State Convention of the American Legion, Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, 17 August 1931 (Jahncke)
Recommissioning of the Constitution, June 1931 (Jahncke)
Chicago, 14 November 1931 (Adams)
Radio Address, Christmas Eve, 1931 (Adams)
Pennsylvania Military College, 7 June 1932 (Adams)
Navy Day, Washington Bicentennial, 29 September 1932 (Adams)
"George Washington as a Naval Strategist," Sons of the American Revolution, Lowell, Massachusetts, 8 March 1932 (Jahncke)
Naval War College Graduation Speech, Newport, June 1932 (Adams)
Remarks on Decoration Day 1933 (Swanson)
Radio Address, CBS, May 1933 (Swanson)
Navy Day Radio Address, NBC, Chicago, 27 October 1933 (Standley)
"Building Up to Treaty Strength," 27 December 1933 (Standley)
Farewell to Byrd, October 1933 (Assistant Secretary Col. Roosevelt)
Remarks Before Aztec Club, November 1933 (Col. Roosevelt)
Radio Address, 19 September 1933 (Col. Roosevelt)
Address, Washington Cathedral, May 1934
Welcome Address for Italian Air Minister Balbo, Radio, July 1933 (Standley)
Radio Address, Los Angeles, September 1933 (Swanson)
Newsreel Interview, 12 July 1933 (Swanson)
Keynote Speech at Balbo Dinner, Washington, 30 July 1933 (Swanson)
Article for Hearst Papers, 23 July 1933
Newsreel Interview, Navy Day, 27 October 1933 (Standley)
Address, San Diego, October 1933 (Swanson)
Address, Seattle, October 1933 (Swanson)
Address, San Francisco, October 1933 (Swanson)
Address, Honolulu, October 1933 (Swanson)
"The United States Navy," Radio Address, 20 August 1933 (Standley)
Women's Patriotic Conference, January 1934 (Standley)
Radio Broadcast, June 1934 (Standley)
Navy Day Speech, 27 October 1934 (Rear Adm. J.K. Taussig)
Peary Anniversary, 6 April 1934 (Col. Roosevelt)
Women's Patriotic Conference on National Defense, Washington, 26 January 1934 (Adm. Clark H. Woodward)
Women's Patriotic Conference on National Defense, Washington, (Rear Adm. E.J. King)
American Legion Speech, 23 July 1935 (Rear Admiral Stark)
Women's Patriotic Conference on National Defense, January 1935 (Rear Adm. J.K. Taussig)
Armistice Day Speech, 1 1 November 1938 (Admiral Stark)
Farewell Luncheon to Leahy, July 1939 (Stark)
"Philippine Independence and Naval Bases," Policy Memorandum, August 1939 (Stark)
Chamber of Commerce Convention, 29 April 1940 (Stark)
Keynote Address, Navy Day Dinner, Chicago, 27 October 1940 (Stark)
Address, Washington Press Club, 10 April 1922 (Assistant Secretary Theodore Roosevelt)
182
District of Columbia Commandry of the American Legion, 12 February 1923 (Rear Adm. Hugh Rodman)
Naval Academy Graduation Speech, Annapolis, June 1930 (Adams)
Address, Milwaukee, August 1931 (Jahncke)
Address on the Anniversary of Yorktown, 12 October 1931 (Adams)
Naval Academy Graduation Speech, Annapolis, June 1941 (Stark); Knox Papers, NHF.
16. Furer to Knox, 23 September 1927; Knox to Emmet, 29 September 1922; Babcock to Knox, 17 October 1931; Moffet to Knox, 28 February 1933; Knox to Standley, 29 April 1935; Stark to Knox, April 1940; Knox to Stark, Secret Memorandum October 1940, Knox Papers, NHF.
17. "Memorandum Prepared for the President at His Direction," 13 January 1938, Knox Papers, NHF.
18. Ibid., p. 11.
19. "Association with Franklin D. Roosevelt of Dudley W. Knox," Prepared by Knox for the Franklin D. Roosevelt Memorial Foundation, Knox Papers, NHF.
20. Radio Broadcast, Cleveland, Ohio, 27 October 1939, Standley Papers, NHF.
21. "Our Navy and Other Factors of Sea Power," Radio Broadcast, Springfield, Mass., 27 October 1922, Gleaves Papers, NHF.
22. Hamilton, p. 66.
23. Dudley W. Knox, "Naval Power as a Preserver of Neutrality and Peace," Manuscript of article for U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, May 1937, Knox Papers, NHF.
24. Quoted in "Memorandum Prepared for the President at His Direction," Knox Papers, NHF.
25. "Naval Power as a Preserver of Neutrality and Peace," Knox Papers, NHF. 26 Hamilton, p. 66.
27. Ibtd., p. 64.
28. "Seapower — What Is It?" Navy Day Address, 27 October 1936, Knox Papers, NHF, pp. 2-3.
29. Radio Address, CBS, 10 August 1940, Standley Papers, NHF.
30. Radio Address, Pittsburgh, 27 October 1927, Furer Papers, NHF.
31. Quoted in "Memorandum Prepared for the President at His Direction," Knox Papers, NHF.
32. "Our Navy and Other Factors of Sea Power," Gleaves Papers, NHF, p. 13.
33. Radio Address, CBS, 10 August 1940, Standley Papers, NHF.
34. Hamilton, p. 67.
35. Radio Address, CBS, 10 August 1940, Standley Papers, NHF.
36. Hamilton, p. 67.
37. "Our Navy and Other Factors of Sea Power," Gleaves Papers, NHF, p. 9.
38. Dudley W. Knox, The Eclipse of American Sea Power (New York: Army and Navy Journal, 1922).
39. "The Price of Peace," Manuscript of article for Atlantic Monthly, April 1938, Knox Papers, NHF.
40. "Our Navy and Other Factors of Sea Power," Gleaves Papers, NHF, p. 8.
41. "The Price of Peace," Knox Papers, NHF.
42. Radio Address, Navy Day 1927, Furer Papers, NHF.
43. Frederick Merk, Manifest Destiny and Mission in American History (New York: Vintage Books, 1966), pp. 228-260.
44. "Personality and Influence," Draft of speech delivered at the Royal Naval College, Dartmouth, England, Mahan Papers, NHF.
45. Adm. Harry E. Yarnell, "Sons of Gunboats," Yarnell Papers, NHF.
46. For example, Marcus Goodrich, Delilah (New York: Popular Library, 1978); Vernon L. Kellogg, Beyond War, A Chapter in the Natural History of Man (New York: Holt, 1912); George Nasmyth, Social Progress and Darwinian Theory (New York: Putnam, 1916); John Hayes Holmes, New Wars for Old (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1916); Walter E. Weyl, The End of the War (New York: Macmillan, 1918); Morris Jastrow, The War and the Coming Peace: The Moral Issue (Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1918), for the paradigm transition during the second decade of this country.
47. Alfred Thayer Mahan, The Interest of America in Sea Power (Boston: Little, Brown, 1897), p. 18.
48. "Memorandum Prepared and Read by Rear-Admiral Knight at the Meeting of the General Board on July 28, 1915," General Board File 420-2, Naval Historical Division.
183
49. "U.S. Naval Building Policy," Memorandum No. 21, Planning Section, London, May 1918, Record Group 45, National Archives.
50. Dudley W. Knox, "National Strategy," 7 October 1932, Record Group XIV, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC).
51. "Memorandum Prepared and Read by Captain W.L. Rodgers, Third Section at General Board Meeting, July 27, 1915," General Board File 420-2.
52. "U.S. Naval Building Policy."
53. "The Blue-Orange Situation: Lecture Delivered by Captain R.R. Belknap, U.S.N., for Fleet- War College Sessions, 1 November 1921," Record Group XIV, NHC.
54. "The Price of Peace," p. 15.
55. Outline History of the United States Naval War College 1884 to Date (Newport: Collected Transcript, Bound, 1937).
56. Alfred Thayer Mahan, The Interest of America in International Conditions (Boston: Little, Brown, 1910), p. 39.
57. "Memorandum," Rodgers, General Board File 420-2.
58. "U.S. Naval Building Policy."
59. "The Blue-Orange Situation."
60. W.D. Puleston, The Armed Forces of the Pacific (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1941), p. 29.
61. Adm. H.E. Yarnell, "Commander in Chief, Asiatic Fleet, to Chief of Naval Operations, Situation in the Pacific," 26 November 1938, Record Group 8, NHC.
62. "U.S. Naval Building Policy."
63. "Memorandum" Rodgers, General Board File 420-2.
64. "Memorandum of George Dewey," 24 June 1904, General Board File 425, Naval Historical Division; Seward W. Livermore, "Theodore Roosevelt, the American Navy, and the Venezuelan Crisis of 1903," American Historical Review, April 1946, pp. 452-471.
65. The flavor of that adventure, for Americans, is brought out in Richard O'Connor, The Spirit Soldiers: A Historical Narrative of the Boxer Rebellion (New York: Putnam, 1973); for a direct, imagistic injection of the American role, see Frederick Remington's painting, "The Ninth United States Infantry Entering Peking," at the Granger Collection.
66. Seward W. Livermore, "The United States Navy as a Factor in World Politics, 1903- 1913," American Historical Review, July 1958, pp. 863-879-
67. "Memorandum for Commander McCain," 15 August 1930, Knox Papers, NHF.
68. Ibid., p. 2.
69. Ibid., p. 3.
70. "Memorandum for Lt.Com. Emmet, September 29, 1922," Knox Papers, NHF.
71. "Our Navy and Other Factors of Sea Power," Gleaves Papers, NHF, pp. 9-10.
72. Ibid., p. 11.
73. Ibid., p. 12.
74. Navy Day Address, Pittsburgh, 1927, Furer Papers, NHF.
75. Hamilton, p. 70.
76. "Memorandum," Rodgers, General Board File 420-2.
77. "Memorandum on Naval Bases," undated (probably 1920), Knox Papers, NHF; "Philippine Independence and Naval Bases," Memorandum prepared by Knox for Stark, August 1939, Knox Papers, NHF; "Naval Base in Philippines," Memorandum prepared by Yarnell CINCASIATIC for Standley, CNO, 1 1 February 1937, Yarnell Papers, NHF; Rear Adm. Bradley A. Fiske to Secretary of the Navy, 3 June 1924, Sims Papers, NHF; Sims to Fiske, 6June 1924, Sims Papers, NHF.
78. "Proposed Plans for Establishment of League of Nations Army and Navy," Memorandum for CNO, PD 1 79- 1 , Records of the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, Naval Historical Division.
79. See Sims' letters to his wife, December 1910 to January 1911, Sims Papers, NHF.
80. Gerald E. Wheeler, Admiral William Veazie Pratt, U.S. Navy: A Sailor's Life (Washington: Dept. of the Navy, Naval History Division, 1974), pp. 96-133.
81. "Cooperation with the Entente Powers," W.S. Benson to the Secretary of the Navy, January 1918, Records of the Chief of Naval Operations.
82. "Building Program," Memorandum Number 67, Planning Section, London, 21 November 1918, Record Group 45, National Archives.
83- Outline History of the Naval War College.
84. Knox, "National Strategy."
85. Ibid., p. 12.
184
86. "Memorandum," Rodgers, General Board File 420-2.
87. "U.S. Naval Building Policy."
88. Knox, "National Strategy," p. 13.
89. Hamilton, p. 70.
90. Knox, "National Strategy," p. 11.
91. Ibid., p. 25.
92. "Memorandum," D.W. Knox to Senior Member, General Board, 8 September 1921, Knox Papers, NHF.
93- Knox, "National Strategy," p. 18.
94. "Memorandum," Rodgers, General Board File 420-2.
95. "U.S. Naval Building Policy."
96. Knox, "National Strategy," p. 20; "Memorandum on Naval Bases," Knox Papers, NHF.
97. Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass (Avon, Conn.: Heritage Press, 1937), p. 226.
98. Knox, "National Strategy," p. 19; Hamilton, p. 67.
99. Knox, "National Strategy," pp. 7, 24.
100. Ibid., p. 9.
101. Outline History of the Naval War College.
102. Davis to Knox, 13 April 1934, Knox Papers, NHF.
103- Knox to Rear Adm. Bradley A. Fiske, 4 June 1934, Knox Papers, NHF.
104. Knox to Secretary of the Navy, "For Harper's Magazine," 17 February 1932, Knox Papers, NHF.
105. Ibid., p. 2.
106. Adm. William H. Standley, Address before Academy of Political Science, New York, December 1937, Standley Papers, NHF; Harold R. Stark, Armistice Day Address, 1 1 November 1938 (written by Knox), Knox Papers, NHF; Capt. Dudley W. Knox, "Seapower-What Is It?" Navy Day Address, 27 October 1936, Knox Papers, NHF.
107. "Building Program on Expiration of Washington and London Treaties," Kalbfus to Standley, 1 October 1935, Record Group VIII, NHC
108. "Memorandum," Knox to Senior Member, General Board, Knox Papers, NHF.
109- Analysis of Order of Battle and Battle Ratios in 9 Engagements, 13 November 1943 to 25 October 1944.
110. "The Price of Peace."
111. "Situation in the Pacific," Yarnell to Leahy, 26 November 1938, NHC
112. Radio Address, CBS, Standley Papers, NHF.
113- Radio Address, Pittsburgh, 27 October 1927, Furer Papers, NHF. 114. Bryan Edwards, quoted inJ.H. Parry, Trade and Dominion (New York: Praeger, 1971), p. 45.
PART II-MISSION
1. Rear Adm. Stephen Bleecker Luce, "On the Relations Between the U.S. Naval War College and the Line Officers of the U.S. Navy," U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, October 191 1, p. 25, Sims Papers, Naval Historical Foundation, Library of Congress.
2. Capt. J.R.P. Pringle, "Naval War College Course," 4 September 1924, Record Group II, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection.
CHAPTER V-THE EVOLUTION OF MISSION
1. Rear Adm. Stephen Bleecker Luce, "On the Relations Bewtween the U.S. Naval War College and the Line Officers of the U.S. Navy," U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, October 191 1, p. 28, Sims Papers, Naval Historical Foundation, Library of Congress (hereafter NHF).
2. Ibid., p. 25.
3. Ibid., p. 26.
4. Ibid., p. 29.
5. Adm. William Sowden Sims, Memorandum to Secretary of the Navy, "General Recommendations Concerning War College," 15 January 1920, Record Group II, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC).
6. Ibid.
7. Sims to Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., 22 December 1922, Sims Papers, NHF.
8. Sims, "Tentative Notes Concerning Possible Activities and Functions of the War College," Record Group II, NHC.
185
9. See, for example, Sims to Coontz, 11 January 1922; Belknap to Sims, 17 July, 2 August 1923; Sims to King, 20 February 1914; Knox to Sims, 25 February 1917; Sims to Rodgers, 23 August 1921, Sims Papers, NHF.
10. Capt. Dudley W. Knox, "National Strategy," p. 11, Record Group XV, NHC
11. Ibid., p. 12.
12. Rear Adm. Bradley A. Fiske, Diary: "Notes of B.A. Fiske, Rear Admiral, U.S.N. ," entries for 3, 4, 15 January 1915, Fiske Papers, NHF.
13. Rear Adm. Austin M. Knight, "Address Opening Course of January 1914," p. 11, Sims Papers, NHF.
14. Ibid., p. 9.
15. Ibid., p. 12.
16. Julius Augustus Furer, Administration of the Navy Department in World War II (Washington: U.S. Govt. Print. Off., 1959), p. 109-
17. Knox, Address of Secretary of the Navy Charles Francis Adams at 1932 War College Graduation, p. 2, Knox Papers, NHF.
18. Ibid., p. 4.
19. Ibid., p. 5.
20. Ibid., p. 3.
21. Capt. Leonard James Dow, Address, Naval War College, June 1956, p. 4, Dow Papers, NHF.
22. Ibid., p. 11.
23. Ibid., p. 12.
24. Ibid., p. 13.
CHAPTER VI-THE COURSE
1. Outline History of the United States Naval War College 1884 to Date (Newport: Collected Transcript, Bound, 1937).
2. Ibid.
3. Ibid.
4. Sims, "Tentative Notes Concerning Possible Activities and Functions of the War College," Record Group II, Course Comparison, Outline History of the Naval War College.
5. Questions and Discussion, The Conference of 1905, The Conference of 1907, The Conference of 1912, Record Group VIII, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC).
6. Julius Augustus Furer, Administration of the Navy Department in World War II (Washington: U.S. Govt. Print. Off., 1959), pp. 115-123.
7. Ibid., pp. 111-114.
8. Rear Adm. Bradley A. Fiske, Journal, 5 November 1914, 17 March 1915, Fiske Papers, Naval Historical Foundation, Library of Congress (hereafter NHF).
9. Rear Adm. Austin M. Knight, "Address Opening Course of January, 1914," p. 11, Sims Papers, NHF.
10. Outline History of the Naval War College.
11. Rear Adm. William S. Sims, "Organization of War College Staff," June 1922, p. 2; Capt. J.R.P. Pringle, "Naval War College Course," 4 September 1924, p. 2, Record Group II, NHC.
12. Outline History of the Naval War College.
13. "Information Regarding Naval War College," 7 October 1925, NHC, p. 3; Pringle, p. 4.
14. Outline History of the Naval War College.
15. "The Naval War College Correspondence Course," 3 May 1920, Record Group II, NHC.
16. Ibid., p. 2.
17. James O. Richardson and George C. Dyer, On the Treadmill to Pearl Harbor (Washington: Dept. of the Navy, Naval History Division, 1973).
18. The Class lists and Curriculum records aggregated in the typescript record, Outline History of the Naval War College, are the basis for the statistical analysis of this section.
19. Professor John O. Dealey, "National Policies in the Pacific," 10 September 1921, p. 6, Record Group XIV, NHC.
20. Professor John P. Baxter, "The Objectives and Aims of American Foreign Policy," "The Navy as an Instrument of Policy," 1932-37, Record Group XV, NHC.
21. Professor George Grafton Wilson, "International Law, Orientation Talk," Department of Intelligence, p. 2, Record Group II, NHC.
186
22. "Proposed Plans for Establishment of League of Nations Army and Navy," Memorandum for CNO, PD 179-1, Records of the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, Operational Archives, Naval Historical Division.
23. Ronald Spector, Professors of War: The Naval War College and the Development of the Naval Profession (Newport, R.I.: Naval War College Press, 1977), p. 147.
24. The German Aland Island operation of 1917 was the only rival of Gallipoli; see A. Harding Ganz, "'Albion' — The Baltic Island Operation," Military Affairs, April 1978, pp. 91-97.
25. Naval War College to Bureau of Navigation, Memorandum: "Reading Course — Professional Bibliography," 18 June 1928, p. 2, Record Group II, NHC
26. Naval War College, Educational Department, "Prescribed Reading Course," June 1934, Record Group II, NHC.
27. Advanced Course, 1934-1935, "List of Books Reviewed," Record Group II, NHC.
28. Rear Adm. W.S. Pye, "Advanced Course of 1934-1935, Book Review: The Decline of the West" p. 1, Record Group II, NHC.
29. Ibid., p. 2.
30. Capt. Byron McCandless, "Advanced Course, 1934-1935, Book Review: The Racial History of Man',' Record Group II, NHC.
31. "Information Regarding Naval War College," 7 October 1925, NHC, p. 3; Pringle, p. 4.
32. Capt. J. M. Reeves, "Thesis on Tactics, Class of 1925," Department of Tactics, 23 February 1925, Record Group II, NHC.
33- Capt. J.O. Richardson, "The Relationship in War of Naval Strategy, Tactics, and Command," Thesis, Senior Class of 1934, 7 May 1934, p. 2, Record Group XIII, NHC.
34. Spector, p. 150.
35. Capt. J.R. Poinsett Pringle, "Thesis on 'Policy,'" 13 September 1919, Record Group II, NHC.
36. Record Group XIII, Student Theses, NHC.
37. Ibid., scan of titles, 1919-1941.
38. Carl von Clausewitz, On War (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1976), p. 605.
39. Capt. T.C. Hart, "Class of 1923: Thesis on Policy," 1 September 1922, p. 5, Record Group. XIII, NHC.
40. Hamilton to Washington, 10 November 1796; Hamilton's draft of Washington's Eighth Annual Address to Congress, 10 November 1796; in Harold C. Syett, ed., The Papers of Alexander Hamilton (New York: Columbia University Press, 1974), v. XX, pp. 381-387.
41. Clausewitz, p. 608.
42. Cdr. C.W. Nimitz, "Class of 1923: Thesis on Policy," 1 September 1922, p. 5, Record Group XIII, NHC.
43- Clausewitz, p. 605.
44. Ibid., p. 581.
45. Capt. E.J. King, "Thesis: The Influence of the National Policy on the Strategy of a War," Senior Class, 1933, p. 7, Record Group XIII, NHC.
46. Clausewitz, pp. 585-586.
47. Capt. A.J. Hepburn, "Thesis: The Inter-Relation in War of National Policy, Strategy, Tactics, and Command," Senior Class of 1931, 15 May 1931, p. 18, Record Group XIII, NHC.
48. Clausewitz, pp. 605-610.
49. Record Groups II and XIII, NHC.
50. Capt. J.W. Greenslade, "Thesis, Policy," Class of 1926, 5 December 1925, p. 9, Record Group XIII, NHC.
51. Clausewitz, p. 594.
52. Bradley A. Fiske, Our Navy as a Fighting Machine (New York: Scribner, 1916), pp. 137- 143, 153-157; Charles W. Cullen, "From Kriegsakademie to Naval War College: The Military Planning Process," Naval War College Review, January 1970, pp. 10-15.
53- Cdr. R.A. Spruance, "Thesis on Policy," Class of 1927 (Senior Class), 4 December 1926, p. 30, Record Group XIII, NHC.
54. Greenslade, p. 12.
55. Cdr. Husband E. Kimmel, "Thesis on Policy," Class of 1926, 5 December 1925, p. 4, Record Group XIII, NHC.
56. Greenslade, p. 12.
57. Kimmel, p. 4.
58. Nimitz, p. 7.
59. King, pp. 25, 26.
60. Richardson, "Thesis," p. 6.
187
61. King, pp. 32, 33; Richardson, "Thesis," p. 7.
62. Capt. R.L. Ghormley, "Thesis: Present Trends in the Foreign Policy of the United States in Regard to Europe," pp. 22, 25, Record Group XIII, NHC.
63- Greenslade, p. 2.
64. Hepburn, p. 22.
65. Capt. C.P. Snyder, "Thesis: Policy," Class of 1925, 6 December 1924, p. 1, Record Group XIII, NHC.
66. Capt. Joseph Reeves, "Thesis: Policy," Class of 1924, 4 September 1924, pp. 2-4; Nimitz, pp. 1-5, Record Group XIII, NHC.
67. Nimitz, p. 1.
68. Ibid., p. 2.
69. Reeves, p. 3.
70. Cdr. R.E. Ingersoll, "Thesis on Policy," Class of 1927 (Senior Class), 4 December 1926, p. 23, Record Group XIII, NHC.
71. Nimitz, pp. 2, 3.
72. Ibid., p. 2. 73- Snyder, p. 6.
74. Nimitz, p. 2.
75. Hart, p. 8.
76. Ibid.; King, pp. 23-24.
77. Cdr. Ellis Mark Zacharias, "Thesis: The Relationship Between National Policy and Strategy in War in the Russo-Japanese War," Senior Class of 1934, 1 February 1934, pp. 8, 56, Record Group XIII, NHC.
78. Lt. W.D. Puleston, "Thesis: BLUE Strategy in the Pacific," July 1914, p. 2, Record Group XIII, NHC.
79- Zacharias, pp. 6-8; Puleston, pp. 5-7.
80. Kimmel, p. 17.
81. Nimitz, p. 21.
82. Puleston, p. 11.
83. Greenslade, p. 16; Puleston, p. 1 ; Nimitz, p. 2 1 ; Hart, p. 10; Kimmel, p. 19; Snyder, p. 19; Kalbfus, p. 71; Reeves, p. 10.
84. King, p. 22; Richardson, "Thesis," p. 6.
85. Capt. C.C. Bloch, "Thesis: The Present Foreign Policies of the United States," Senior Class, 1930, 26 April 1930, p. 52, Record Group XIII, NHC.
86. Capt. E.C. Kalbfus, "Thesis on Policy," Class of 1927 (Senior Class), 4 December 1926, p. 2, Record Group XIII, NHC.
87. Richardson, "Thesis," p. 6.
88. Lt. Cdr. D.W. Knox, "The Role of Doctrine in Naval Warfare," Reprinted from the U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, March- April 1915, with a Preface by the President, Naval War College, 15 June 1936, p. 1, Knox Papers, NHF.
89- Rear Adm. Bradley A. Fiske, Journal, "Notes of B.A. Fiske, Rear-Admiral," 15 January 1915, Fiske Papers, NHF.
90. Knox, p. 8.
91. Ibid., p. 8.
92. Ibid.
93. Ibid., p. 5.
94. Ibid., p. 1.
95. Ibid., p. 2.
96. Thomas Hobbes, De Corpore Politico. Or, the Elements of Law, Moral and Politick (London: J. Martin and J. Ridley, 1650).
97. Leonard Barkan, Nature's Work of Art: The Human Body as Image of the World (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1975).
98. Rear Adm. Austin M. Knight, The Estimate of the Situation, June 1915, Revised by Naval War College Staff, March 1921, p. 3, Record Group XXVII, NHC.
99. The Estimate of the Situation, Plans and Orders, Prepared at the United States Naval War College, 1929, p. 9, Record Group XXVII, NHC.
100. "The Estimate of the Situation: Diagram to Show Sequence of Derivation," Record Group XXVII, NHC.
101. Rear Adm. E.C. Kalbfus, preface to Naval War College reprint of "The Role of Doctrine in Naval Warfare," p. 2, Record Group II, NHC.
188
102. Rear Adm. E.C. Kalbfus, Sound Military Decision, 22 July 1940, Record Group XXVII, NHC.
103. Ibid., p. 13.
104. Ibid., p. 45.
105. Richardson, "Thesis," pp. 14-15.
106. Rear Adm. Bradley A. Fiske, quoted in Sims to Fiske, 21 May 1923, Sims Papers, NHF.
107. Richardson and Dyer, On the Treadmill to Pearl Harbor.
108. Nimitz to Melson, 24 September 1965, NHC. 109 Outline History of the Naval War College.
1 10. Ibid.; Gerald E. Wheeler, Admiral William Veazie Pratt, U.S. Navy: A Sailor's Life (Washington: Dept. of the Navy, Naval History Division, 1974), pp. 67-89; Elting E. Morison, Admiral Sims and the Modern American Navy (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1942), pp. 293-294.
111. Vice Adm. Reginald R. Belknap to Rear Adm. William S. Sims, 17 July 1923, Sims Papers, NHF.
112. Belknap to Sims, 2 August 1923, Sims Papers, NHF.
113. Updated typescript, probably late summer 1912, Sims Papers, NHF.
114. Ibid.
115. "Slides Made By and Shown to Classes of 1925 Naval War College," Record Group II, NHC.
PART III-THE ENEMY
1. Belknap to Sims, 2 August 1923, Sims Papers, Naval Historical Foundation, Library of Congress.
2. Pratt Papers, Naval War College Historical Collection.
3. Herman Melville, Moby Dick (Avon, Conn.: Heritage Press, 1943).
CHAPTER VII-THE CALLIMORPHOSIS OF THE ENEMY: RED
1. Kenneth Bourne, "British Preparations for War With the North, 1861-1862," The English Historical Review, October 1961, pp. 600-632.
2. For a contemporary commentary on America's 19th-century naval stagnation, see Rear Adm. S.B. Luce, "The Fleet," North American Review, October 1908, pp. 564-576; "Naval Strategy," U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, March 1909, pp. 93-112; "Modern Navies. No. 1 — Navy of the United States," Army and Navy Journal, 12 August 1876, p. 7; "Annual Address — 1888," U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, v. XIV, no. 1, 1888, pp. 1-8; "Calhoun's Opinion of the Navy," The Newport Mercury, 18 August 1906, p. 4; Alfred Thayer Mahan, From Sail to Steam: Recollections of Naval Life (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1907), pp. 26-102.
3. Howard I. Chapelle,/4 History of the American Sailing Navy (New York: Norton, 1949), pp. 172-185.
4. Adm. George Dewey to Victor H.Metcalf, 25 April 1907, General Board Papers, File 420- 1, U.S. Navy Operational Archives, Naval Historical Division.
5. Cdr. N.H. McCully, "Organization, Mobilization and Distribution of Red Naval Forces in Case of War with Blue," BNOpP, 18 March 1912, Record Group VIII, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC).
6. Alfred Thayer Mahan, The Interest of America in International Conditions (Boston: Little, Brown, 1910), pp. 161-164: Elting E. Morison, ed., The Letters of Theodore Roosevelt (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1951 through 1954), v. II, pp. 1151, 1362, 1208, v. VI, p. 1292, v. VIII, pp. 1394, 1412, 1415, 1416; Theodore Roosevelt to Arthur James Balfour, 10 December 1918, v. VIII, p. 1415 cites:
We feel that the British Navy from the necessities of the British Empire should be the most powerful in the world, and we have no intention of rivalling it
7. Alexander Hamilton, The Federalist or the New Constitution (Avon, Conn.: Heritage Press, 1945), p. 70.
8. Rear Adm. Bradley A. Fiske, Diary, "Notes of B.A. Fiske, Rear Admiral," 12 February 1915, Fiske Papers, Naval Historical Foundation, Library of Congress (hereafter NHF).
9. The Joint Board, Joint Planning Committee, "Joint Army and Navy Plan for the Capture and Occupation of the Azores (GRAY-WPL-47),"J.B. No. 325 (Serial 694), 28 May 1941; "Joint Army and Navy Basic Plan for the Occupation of Iceland by a Permanent Garrison of the United States Army (INDIGO)," J.B. No. 325 (Serial 697), 1 July 1941; Gen. L.T. Gerow to Rear Adm. R.K. Turner (Dir WPD), "Plans for DAKAR Operations" (WPD4511-3), 23 July 1941, War
189
Plans Division (OP- 12), Records of the Chief of Naval Operations, U.S. Navy Operational Archives, Naval Historical Division.
These are the first forward defense, mid-Atlantic combined operations plans drawn up by the Army and Navy. Two years earlier, Capt. R.L. Thormley, the Director of OP- 12, wrote a memorandum to Adm. H.R. Stark, CNO, "State Department's letter 22 May 1939, requesting comment on the extent of Liberian Protective Measures," 24 May 1939 (OP-12B-WHC (SC) A14-7/RF39 D- 17446). Navy opinion, just months before the outbreak of European War, was unable to support an African, transatlantic base, even with Liberian pleas in their ears. Atlantic paradigm displacement would await the fall of France.
10. "Memorandum No. 67, Building Program," Planning section, London, 21 November 1918, pp. 2-11, Record Group 45, National Archives.
11. Ibid., p. 12.
12. Ibid., p. 15.
1 3- Rear Adm. Julius Augustus Furer, Radio Address, Pittsburgh, 27 October 1929, p. 2, Furer Papers, NHF. Capt. E.J. King, Thesis, p. 21, Record Group XIII, NHC
14. Lt. Holloway H. Frost, "Strategy of the Atlantic," 9 September 1919, p. 1, Record Group XIV, NHC; Cdr. H.E. Yarnell, Memorandum for Admiral McKean, OP- 56, 11 February 1919, Yarnell Papers, NHF.
15. Frost, pp. 5, 16-17.
16. David Syrett, The Seige and Capture of Havana (London: Navy Records Society, 1970).
17. Lt. Holloway H. Frost, "The Naval Operations of a Red-Orange Campaign," Lecture delivered at the General Staff College, 25 October 1920, "Received from Naval Operations," Record Group XIV, NHC.
18. Lectures from Army and Naval War Colleges, War Plans Division (OP-12), U.S. Navy Operational Archives, Navy History Division. There are 300 such lectures in the records of the War Plans Division.
19. Frost, "The Naval Operations of a Red-Orange Campaign," p. 1.
20. Ibid., pp. 6-10.
21. Frost to Sims, 14 October 1923, Sims Papers, NHF.
22. Great Britain, Admiralty, The Navy List (London: HMSO, 1920); U.S. Navy Department, Report of the Secretary of the Navy (Washington: U.S. Govt. Print. Off., 1920).
23. Great Britain, Parliament, Navy Estimates, 1921 (London: HMSO, 1921).
24. Holloway H. Frost, The Battle of Jutland (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1936), p. 514.
25. Dudley W. Knox, The Eclipse of American Seapower (New York: The American Army and Navy Journal, 1922).
26. Capt. J.M. Reeves, "A Tactical Study Based on the Fundamental Principles of War of the Employment of the Present BLUE Fleet in Battle Showing the Vital Modifications Demanded by Tactics," p. 36, Record Group II, NHC.
27. Class of 1923, Tactical Problem IV, "The Battle of the Emerald Bank," Record Group II, NHC.
28. Class of 1924, Tactical Problem II, "The Battle of Sable Island," Record Group II, NHC.
29. Reeves, p. 36.
30. Ibid., Plate 48.
31. Ibid., p. 35.
32. General Board Records, pp. 420-422, 1925-1932, U.S. Navy Operational Archives, Naval History Division.
33. Reeves, pp. 31-32.
34. Reeves to Secretary of the Navy Charles Swanson, 17 May 1937, Records of the Secretary of the Navy, Record Group 80, National Archives.
35. Rear Adm. H.E. Yarnell, "Memorandum on London Treaty," Spring 1930, p. 9, Yarnell Papers, NHF.
36. Senior Class of 1938, Operations Problem VI (Tactical), Record Group II, NHC.
37. Rear Adm. Hugh Rodman to Secretary of the Navy, "Officers Uniforms — changes in," 30 April 1918, Sims Papers, NHF.
38. General Board to Secretary of the Navy, "Questions to Be Answered in Connection with Consideration of the Elevation of Guns," 23 December 1924, G.B. No. 420-6, Serial No. 1259, General Board Records, Navy Operational Archives, Naval Historical Division.
39. Cdr. T.H. Thomson to Capt. Dudley W. Knox, 11 December 1923, Knox Papers, NHF.
40. Capt. D.W. Knox, "Strategy of the Atlantic in a War with a Major European Power," p. 14, Knox Papers, NHF.
41. Capt. E.J. King, "Thesis: The Influence of the National Policy on the Strategy of a War," p. 21, King Papers, NHF.
190
CHAPTER VIII-THE CACOMORPHOSIS OF THE ENEMY:
ORANGE
1. Board on Defenses, "War with Spain and Japan," p. 8, UNOpB, Record Group VIII, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC).
2. Capt. Caspar F. Goodrich, "Strategic Features of the Pacific," 23 June 1897, p. 6, Record Group VIII, NHC.
3. Lt. J.M. Ellicott, "Sea Power of Japan," 1900, JN, p. 23, Record Group VIII, NHC.
4. Ellicott, "The Strategic Features of the Philippine Islands, Hawaii, and Guam," 14 June 1900, XSTP, p. 4, Record Group VIII, NHC.
5. Rear Adm. George Remey, Memorandum reported in General Board Proceedings, 29 May 1902, General Board Records, U.S. Navy Operational Archives, Naval Historical Division.
6. Conference of 1902, "Solution of Problem of 1902," pp. 14-19, Record Group XII, NHC.
7. Conference of 1903, "Problem: Course of 1903," Record Group XII, NHC.
8. A.T. Mahan to Henry C. Taylor, 7 December 1903 in Robert Seager II and Doris D. Maguire, eds. Letters and Papers of Alfred Thayer Mahan (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1975), v. Ill, p. 86.
9. See A.T. Mahan, The Interest of America in International Conditions (Boston: Little, Brown, 1910), pp. 38-46; Homer Lea, The Day of the Saxon (New York: Harper, 1907), pp. 216-223; Bradley A. Fiske, Diary, 12 February, 10 March 1915, Fiske Papers, Naval Historical Division, Library of Congress.
10. Rear Adm. R.P. Rodgers, "Strategic Plan of Campaign Against Orange," 1911, Record Group XII, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC); "War Portfolio No. 2," General Board Records, U.S. Navy Operational Archives, Naval Historical Division.
11. Conference of 1906, "Solution of Problem," Record Group XII, NHC; General Board of the Navy, "In Case of Strained Relations with Japan," 1906, Record Group XII, NHC.
12. Ibid., p. 3.
13. Ibid., pp. 9-14, 42-50.
14. Cdr. H.S. Knapp, "Memorandum," 31 January 1907,JNOpP, p. 3, NHC.
15. Mahan to Editor, New York Sun, 28 January 1907; Seager and Maguire, v. Ill, p. 206.
16. Lt. Cdr. W.D. MacDougall, "Study of Special Situation," 5 April 1907, JNOpP, p. 10, Record Group VIII, NHC.
17. James O. Richardson and George C. Dyer, On the Treadmill to Pearl Harbor (Washington: Dept. of the Navy, Navy History Division, 1973), pp. 383-402.
18. Cdr. J.H. Oliver, "Memorandum Submitted to the President of the War College," 20 April 1907, Record Group VIII, JNOpP, NHC.
19. Rodgers, pp. 52-57.
20. Ibid., p. 39.
21. Ronald Spector, Professors of War: The Naval War College and the Development of the Naval Profession (Newport, R.I.: Naval War College Press, 1977), pp. 147-150.
22. Nimitz to Melson, 24 September 1965, NHC.
23. Oliver to Rodgers, 27 February 1911, with "Strategic Plan of Campaign Against Orange"; also, Outline History of the United States Naval War College 1 884 to Date (Newport: Collected Typescript, Bound, 1937) ; Mahan to Capt. Raymond P. Rodgers, 22 February and 4 March 1911, Letters and Papers of Alfred Thayer Mahan, v. Ill, pp. 380-388, 390-391.
24. Rear Adm. Bradley A. Fiske, Journal, 30 November 1914, Fiske Papers, Naval Historical Foundation, Library of Congress (hereafter NHF).
25. Sims to Daniels, "Matters Connected with the Pacific," 13 August 1920, Sims Papers, NHF.
26. Capt. D.W. Knox, "Memorandum on Naval Bases" 1922(?), Knox Papers, NHF; Cdr. Julius Augustus Furer, "Drydocking and Major Repairs in a Campaign in the Western Pacific," UNOpP, Record Group VIII, NHC.
27. Office of Naval Operations, "Synopsis of a Preliminary Technical Study-Basic Orange Plan, Advanced Base," 1 December 1927, U.S. Navy Operational Archives, Naval Historical Division.
28. Summation of ORANGE Economic Committee, "The influence of ORANGE Economic Factors on BLUE's Strategy in War," XSTP, Record Group VIII, p. 6, NHC.
29. General Board, "Strategic Problem — Pacific," 7 October 1916, Record Group VIII, UNOpP, p. 25, NHC.
30. Fiske to Sims, 3 June 1924, Sims Papers, NHF.
191
31. Adm. H.E. Yarnell, CINCASIATIC to CNO, "Situation in the Pacific," 26 November 1938, p. 73, XSTP, Record Group VIII, NHC
32. Capt. R. A. Koch, "BLUE-ORANGE Study," 3 1 March 1933, UNOpP, Record Group VIII, p. 17, NHC
33. Navy Basic Plan— ORANGE (WPL-13/Volume 1, WPL-14/Volume II, WPL- 15/ Volume III, WPL- 16/ Volume IV), March 1929, War Plans Division (OP- 12), Records of the Chief of Naval Operations, U.S. Navy Operational Archives, Naval Historical Division.
34. Ibid., p. 12.
CHAPTER IX-BEHIND THE MASK
1. Rear Adm. Stephen B. Luce to Vice Adm. Yamamoto Gombei, "To the Secretary of the Imperial Japanese Navy," 1901, Luce Papers, Naval Historical Foundation, Library of Congress (hereafter NHF).
2. Lt. John M. Ellicott, "Sea Power of Japan," JN, Record Group VIII, p. 4, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC).
3. Conference of 1902, "Solution of Problem of 1902," pp. 14-19, Record Group XII, NHC.
4. Yarnell to Snyder, 10 January 1939, Yarnell Papers, NHF.
5. Homer Lea, The Day of the Saxon (New York: Harper, 1907), pp. 216-223; Dewey to Bonaparte, October 1906, General Board Letters, U.S. Navy Operational Archives, Naval Historical Division.
6. Dewey to Newberry, 24 February 1909, General Board Letters, U.S. Navy Operational Archives, Naval Historical Division, "Memorandum for the General Board Presented by Captain Sargent," 15 June 1907, General Board Letters.
7. Rear Adm. B.A. Fiske, Journal, 30 November 1914, 12 February 191 5, Fiske Papers, NHF; "Problem: Course of 1903," Record Group XII, NHC.
8. A.T. Mahan, The Interest of America in International Conditions (Boston: Little, Brown, 1910), pp. 38-39.
9- Fiske, Journal, 9 February 1915, Fiske Papers, NHF.
10. Professor John H. Latani, "The Relation of the United States and Japan," p. 26, 1913, Record Group XIV, NHC.
11. Office of Naval Intelligence, "RE Orange Strategic Plan," 20 February 1914; "Japanese Plan for a Campaign Against America," 22 May 1914; "War Between Japan and America: A Picture of the Future" (ostensibly translated from articles in Japanese newspaper Manyo), JNOpP, Record Group VIII, NHC.
12. Fiske, Journal 9, 10 February 1915, Fiske papers, NHF.
13. Lt. Cdr. L. A. Cotton, "Far Eastern Conditions from the Naval Point of View," 26 February 1915, p. 7, Record Group XIV, NHC.
14. Ibid., p. 2.
15. Ibid., p. 8.
16. Ibid.
17. Ibid., p. 11.
18. Ibid., p. 6.
19. Roger Pineau.ed., The Japan Expedition, 1832-1834. The Personal Journal of Commodore Matthew C. Perry (Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1968), pp. 159, 163.
20. Cdr. H.E. Yarnell, "Strategy of the Pacific-Japanese Characteristics," 8 September 1919, p. 7, Record Group XIV, NHC.
21. Office of Naval Intelligence, "Memorandum Regarding Japanese Psychology and Morale," JNP, Record Group XIII, NHC.
22. Capt. Edward Howe Watson, "Some Notes, Comparisons, Observations, and Conclusions made in Japan, China, and the Far East," April 1939, 4A, JR, Record Group VIII, NHC.
23. Cotton, pp. 17-18.
24. Professor J.O. Dealey, "National Policies in the Pacific," 10 September 1921, p. 6, Record Group XIV, NHC.
25. Cdr. C.W. Nimitz, "Thesis on Policy," 1 September 1922, p. 2 1, Record Group XIII, NHC.
26. Capt. T.C. Hart, "Thesis on Policy," 1 September 1922, p. 10, Record Group XIII, NHC.
27. Cdr. H.E. Kimmel, "Thesis on Policy," 5 December 1925, p. 17, Record Group XIII, NHC.
28. Capt. Byron McCandless, "Book Review. Advanced Course 1934-1935," The Racial History of Man, 3 August 1934, p. 2, Record Group II, NHC.
29. Nimitz.
192
30. Cdr. Ellis Mark Zacharias, "The Relationship Between National Policy and Strategy in War in the Sino-Japanese War, and the Russo-Japanese War," 1 February 1934, p. 53, Record Group XIII, NHC.
31. Lt. W.D. Puleston, "Thesis Blue Strategy in the Pacific,"July 1914, p. 22, Record Group XIII, NHC.
32. W.D. Puleston, Armed Forces of the Pacific (New Haven, Conn: Yale University Press, 1941), pp. 29, 43,56.
33. Yarnell to Knox, 6 September 1938; Yarnell to Snyder, 10 January 1939; Yarnell to Hornbeck, 10 March 1939; Yarnell to Leahy, 11 October 1938, Yarnell Papers, NHF.
34. Yarnell to Puleston, 5 January 1938, Yarnell Papers, NHF; Preface by Adm. H.E. Yarnell in Puleston, Armed Forces of the Pacific.
35. Sadao Asada, "The Japanese Navy and the United States" in Dorothy Borg and Shumpei Okamoto, eds., Pearl Harbor as History: Japanese-American Relations, 1931-1941 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1973), pp. 225-259; Stephen Pe\z, Race to Pearl Harbor: The Failure of the Second London Conference and the Onset of World War II (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1974), pp. 35-38.
PART IV-THE GAME
1. Capt. William McCarty Little, "The Strategic Naval War Game, Or Chart Maneuver," Lecture delivered by Capt. W. McCarty Little, June 1912, Record Group II, p. 10, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC).
2. William Shakespeare, Henry V, Chorus.
3. Capt. John Stapler to Capt. J.V. Babcock, 18 November 1931, Record Group II, NHC.
4. Little, p. 12.
5. Ibid., p. 3.
6. Senior Class of 1929, Department of Operations, Information Sheet, Tactical Demonstrative Exercises, 18 July 1929, Record Group II, NHC.
CHAPTER X-THE GAME AS RITUAL: EXPEDE HERCULEM
1. Rear Adm. Stephen Bleecker Luce, "The Naval and Military Conference of 1909," Naval War College, Summer 1909, Naval Historical Foundation, Library of Congress (hereafter NHF).
2. Ibid., p. 9.
3. Adm. W.S. Sims, Excerpt from Address to Opening Class of June 1919, General Correspondence, Sims Papers, NHF.
4. Ibid.
5. Outline History of the Naval War College (Newport, R.I.: Collected Typescript, Bound, 1937).
6. Department of Tactics, "Demonstrative Search Problems," Annual Classes, 1922 to 1941, Record Group II, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC).
7. Department of Tactics, Demonstrative Exercise Materials, Annual Classes, 1922 to 1941, Record Group II, NHC.
8. Department of Operations, The Conduct of Maneuvers, June 1935, p. 2. Record Group IV, NHC.
9. Ibid., pp. 2-3, 24. See also, Rear Adm. E.C. Kalbfus, Sound Military Decision, 22 July 1940, Record Group XXVII, NHC.
10. The Conduct of Maneuvers, p. 17.
11. Ibid., p. a.
12. Ibid., pp. 24-25.
13 Department of Operations, Maneuver Rules, Record Group II, NHC.
14. Ibid., pp. 126-137.
15. The Conduct of Maneuvers, p. a.
16. Ibid., p. 2.
17. Ibid., p. 7.
18. Ibid., p. 8.
19. Ibid., p. 7.
20. Ibid., p. 27.
193
21. The Chief of the Bureau of Navigation (C.W. Nimitz) to President, Naval War College, "Request for fifty copies of drawings to accompany specifications for Mark III War Game Outfit," 12 June 1935, plus enclosed drawing, Record Group II, NHC.
22. The Conduct of Maneuvers, p. 29.
23. Maneuver Rules, p. 10.
24. The Conduct of Maneuvers, p. 15.
25. Torpedo Fire Cards, October 1930, Record Group II, NHC; "Table 4: Target Maneuvers," "Table 5: Hits Alongside," "Table 6: Hit Values," Maneuver Rules, pp. 130, 132.
26. Sample Forms Used in Conduct of Maneuvers, 25 November 1930, "Umpire's Damage Sheets: Blue, Orange, Red Fleets," Record Group II, NHC.
27. Maneuver Rules, "Section F — Gunfire," pp. 61-84.
28. Sims to Coontz, 1 1 January 1922, Sims Papers, NHF.
29. Luce, "The Naval and Military Conference of 1909''
30. Ibid.
31. Frost to Sims, 14 October 1923, Sims Papers, NHF.
32. Carl von Clausewitz, On War (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976), p. 578.
CHAPTER XI-THE GAME AS ORACLE: THE CAMPAIGN
1. Bradley A. Fiske, Our Navy as a Fighting Machine (New York: Scribner, 1916), p. 209-
2. Carl von Clausewitz, On War (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976), p. 358.
3. Ibid., p. 119.
4. Class of 1923, "The Battle of the Marianas," Tac, p. 96, 1923, Record Group II, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC).
5. Senior Class of 1928, Operations Problem IV, 1928, Record Group II, NHC.
6. Senior Class of 1933, Operations Problem IV, 1933, Record Group II, NHC.
7. "Stenographic Notes Taken at Critique," Senior Class of 1933, Operations Problem IV, May 1933, p. 11, Record Group II, NHC.
8. "Remarks of President Naval War College Preliminary to Solving Operations Problem III," Senior Class, 1935, 20 February 1935, Record Group II, NHC.
9. Senior Class of 1938, Operations Problem V (Strategic), 1938, Record Group II, NHC.
10. Senior Class of 1938, Operations Problem VII, 1938, Record Group II, NHC.
11. Ibid.; Senior and Junior Classes of 1939, Operations Problem VII, 1939, Record Group II, NHC.
12. Senior and Junior Classes of 1939, Operations Problem VII, 1937, Record Group II, NHC.
13. U.S. Army War College-U.S. Naval War College, Operation Problem VI- 1929, Joint Army and Navy Operations with Forced Landing, Part II, Estimate of Situation and Decision, 1 July 1928, p. 6, Record Group II, NHC.
14. Ibid.; Part I, The Preliminary Situation, Annex (A), pp. 5-7.
15. Ibid.; "Stenographic Notes Taken at Critique," Record Group II, NHC.
16. Operations Problem VI- 1929, Joint Army and Navy Operations with Forced Landing, Part XII, Support Force Operation Orders and Accompanying Annexes of Commanders, Naval Landing Groups and Air Group, 15 March 1929, Record Group II, NHC.
17. Ibid., Part VIII, Operation Order, No. 1 Support Force, Annex VI, Boat Data.
18. "Stenographic Notes Taken at Critique."
CHAPTER XII -THE GAME AS ORACLE: THE BATTLE
1. Carl von Clausewitz, On War (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976), p. 227.
2. Rear Adm. Harris Laning, President, Naval War College, The Naval Battle, May 1933, p. 1, Record Group II, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC).
3. Ibid., p. 55.
4. Ibid., p. 1.
5. Ibid., p. 55.
6. Department of Operations, The Fire Action of the Battle Line, 23 May 1932, p. 2; Cruisers and Destroyers in the General Action, June 1936, p. 1, Record Group II, NHC.
7. Laning, p.* 55.
8. Dept. of Operations, The Fire Action of the Battle Line, p. 45.
9. Laning, p. 2.
10. Ibid., p. 57.
11. Ibid., p. 3.
194
12. Dept. of Operations, The Fire Action of the Battle Line, Plates 1-4.
13. Ronald Spector, Professors of War: The Naval War College and the Development of the Naval Profession (Newport, R.I.: Naval War College Press, 1977), p. 150; Malcolm Muir, Jr. "The Capital Ship Program in the Unk,d States Navy, 1934-1935," Unpublished dissertation, Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio, 1976, p. 38.
14. Holloway H. Frost, The Battle of Jutland ( Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1936), p. 516.
15. Cdr. H.R. Stark, "Thesis on Policy," p. 32, Record Group XII, NHC
16. Laning, p. 48.
CHAPTER XIII-THE GAME AS ORACLE: THE WEAPON
1 . The vertebral metaphor of the battleship guided all interwar imagery: it was the supreme naval shibboleth. Every public address made by a naval officer of this era could be certain to encompass both "battleship" and "backbone" in the same breath. The personal papers sifted by this writer — from Gleaves to Furer to Knox to Sims to Bloch — support the spinal cliche in familiar battleship imagery. Occasional antomical variations like "The Heart of the Fleet," U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, April 1940, were acceptable, though rare. Britain had "The Sure Shield of Empire," in Geoffrey Parratt, The Royal Navy (London: Sheldon Press, 1937), but America could count on "The Backbone of the Fleet," Scientific American, September 1921, or better yet, "The Backbone of the Monroe Doctrine," U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, June 1940.
2. U.S. Department of State, Papers Relating to the Foreign Relations of the United States, "Conference on the Limitation of Armament, Washington, 12 November 1921-16 February 1922; Treaty Between the United States of America, the British Empire, France, Italy, and Japan, Signed at Washington, 6 February 1922; Chapter II, Part IV, Definitions," v. I, 1922 (Washington: U.S. Govt. Print. Off., 1938), p. 264.
3. Michael Vlahos, "A Crack in the Shield: The Capital Ship Concept Under Attack," The Journal of Strategic Studies, May 1979, p. 52.
4. In spite of the tides of "isolationism" and "disarmament," the battle fleet remained, in the collective American imagination, the emotional symbol of security for this New World sanctuary. The writer's father remembers audiences at movies cheering and throwing their hats into the air every time the U.S. Battle Fleet appeared at the end of a newsreel. This was the normal response to America's strategic forces in the 1930s, Springfield, Ohio, the Heartland. As Adm. C.C. Bloch, then CINCUS, wrote of a similar scene in California, 1939:
A friend of mine reports that his wife and child were in a movie house last week in Los Angeles and had seen newsreels of a foreign navy in action, which left the audience wondering just how the United States Navy was. Immediately after the newsreel, your "Filming the Fleet" came to the screen. During its showing and afterwards, the audience applauded with much gusto.
Adm. C.C. Bloch to Mr. Truman Talley, 7 November 1939, Bloch Papers, Naval Historical
Foundation, Library of Congress (hereafter NHF).
5. Rear Adm. H.R. Stark to Adm. C.C. Bloch, 12 July 1937, Bloch Papers, NHF.
6. C.V. Ricketts, "Battleships and Cruisers," 7 August 1947, Record Group XIV, Naval War College Naval Historical Collection (hereafter NHC).
7. W.D. Puleston, The Armed Forces of the Pacific (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1941), p. 242.
8. Critique by Capt. R.B. Coffey, Senior Class of 1933, Tactical Probelm V, Operations Problem IV, May 1933, p. 1, Record Group II, NHC.
9. Rear Adm. Harris Laning, President, Naval War College, The Naval Battle, May 1933, p. 7, Record Group II, NHC.
10. Department of Operations, Cruisers and Destroyers in the General Action, June 1936, p. 1, Record Group II, NHC.
1 1. Laning, p. 9.
12. Ibid., p. 46.
13. Ibid.
14. Capt. J.M. Reeves, "A Tactical Study Based on the Fundamental Principles of War of the Employment of the Present BLUE Fleet in Battle Showing the Vital Modifications Demanded by Tactics," 20 March 1925, Plates 4-7, Record Group II, NHC.
15. These, the dozen battleships of the battle force in the Pacific — four divisions of three ships each — in the last year of peace: 1940. The oldest of the American ironclad veterans, New York, Texas, and Arkansas, were already patrolling the raider-crossed waters of the North Atlantic.
195 AFTERWORD
1. Fleet Admiral William F. Halsey to Admiral Robert B. Carney, 10 November 1958, Dow Papers, Naval Historical Division, Library of Congress.
2. Adm. Robert B. Carney, Review of "Leyte," typescript, 1959, Dow Papers, Naval Historical Division, Library of Congress.
3. Michael Vlahos, "A Crack in the Shield: The Capital Ship Concept Under Attack," The journal of Strategic Studies, May 1979, pp. 69-75.
4. Richard A. Gabriel and Paul L. Savage, Crisis in Command: Mismanagement in the Army (New York: Hill and Wang, 1978), p. 179.
5. Vice Adm. J.B. Stockdale, "Taking Stock," Naval War College Review, January 1979, p. 2.
6. Rear Adm. S.B. Luce, "On the Relations Between the U.S. Naval War College and the Line Officers of the U.S. Navy," U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, October 1911, p. 29.
7. Vice Adm. J.B. Stockdale, "Taking Stock," Naval War College Review, April 1979, p. 1.
8. From conversations with Fleet Games participants.
196
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY
I. NAVAL WAR COLLEGE NAVAL HISTORICAL COLLECTION
Record Group 2: "Administrative Records" (Operational Files)
Serial No. 1836:
Serial No. 1980:
Serial No. 1981:
Serial No. 1997:
Serial No. 1998:
Serial No. 1999:
Serial No. 2095:
Serial No. 2107:
Serial No. 1687: Serial No. 1502-A:
Rear Admiral Harris Laning, President, Naval War College. The Naval Battle, (Confidential). May 1933. Department of Operations, Naval War College. The Conduct of Maneuvers, (Confidential). June 1935. Department of Operations, Naval War College. Maneuver Rules, (Confidential). June 1935.
Department of Operations, Naval War College. Blue Fire Effect Tables, (Confiden- tial).
Department of Operations, Naval War College. Orange Fire Effects Tables, (Confi- dential).
Department of Operations, Naval War College. Red Fire Effect Tables, (Confiden- tial). June 1935.
Department of Intelligence, Naval War College. Fleet Organizations: Blue, Red and Orange, (Confidential). June 1935. Department of Operations, Naval War College, Cruisers and Destroyers in the General Action, (Confidential), June 1936. Torpedo Fire Cards, (Confidential). Naval War College. October 1930. Sample Forms Used in Conduct of Maneuvers, (Confidential). Naval War College, Master Copy, 25 November 1930.
197
Serial No. 1800-D: Description and Use of the Relative Plot
Game Board and Maneuver Protractor, (Restricted). Naval War College, 22 January 1937.
Record Group 8: Intelligence and Technological Archives
XSTP:
UNOpB: JN:
JNOpM: UNOpP(T)
JND: JNT:
UNOpP:
BNOpP:
XBAA: JNOpP:
JNOpP:
Captain C.F. Goodrich. Strategic features of the Pacific. Letter to Assistant Secretary of the Navy on War with Japan. 23 June 1897.
Board on Defenses. War with Spain and Japan. July 1897.
Lieutenant John M. Ellicott, Sea Power of Japan. 1900 (Confidential).
W.W. Taylor. Japanese Operations About Gens an. 5 February 1905. (Confidential). Navy Department, General Board. War Plan: Orange-Blue Situation, assumed September, 1906. June 1907. (Confidential). Major L.C. Lucas. Armored Ships-Blue and Orange-Values. May 1909. (Confidential). Navy Department, Office of Naval Intelligence. Japanese Naval War College. 10 August 1910. (Confidential).
Rear Admiral R.P. Rodgers, President, Naval War College. Strategic Plan of Campaign Against Orange. 15 March 1911. (Confidential). Commander N. A. McCully. Organization, Mobili- zation, and Distribution of Red Naval Forces in Case of War with Blue. 18 March 1912. (Confidential).
Captain E.H. Ellis. Naval Bases: Their Location, Resources, and Security. 1913. (Confidential). Navy Department, Office of Naval Intelligence. Possibilities of a Japanese- American War. 26 June 1914.
Navy Department, Office of Naval Intelligence RE Orange Strategic Plan. February 1914.
198 JNOpP:
JNOpP: JNOpP:
XPON: UNOpP:
XBAN:
XPOD:
UNOpP:
UNOpP:
XSTP:
UNOpP: JNOpP:
XSTP:
UNOpP:
Navy Department, Office of Naval Intelligence. Orange Strategic Plan, Japanese Plan for a Campaign Against America. 22 May 1914. Navy Department, Office of Naval Intelligence. Plans of the Japanese Government in the Event of War between the United States and Japan. 17 March 1915.
Major General Clarance R. Edwards. Translation of an article from frankfurter Zeitung: "War Between Japan and America, A Picture of the Future," 27 May 1915.
Commander W.V. Pratt. Scheme for the Progres- sive Development of the Fleet. 1915. Navy Department, General Board. Strategic Problem — Pacific. Solution by General Board of Blue-Orange Problem submitted by Department. 7 October 1916. (Confidential). Captain W.V. Pratt. Naval Bases from the View- point of a Definite Policy. 15 December 1919. (Confidential).
Navy Department, Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, Plans Department. Building Pro- gram XIII Appendixes. 8 June 1920. (Secret). Lieutenant Commander H.H. Frost. The Naval Operations of a Red-Orange Campaign. 25 October 1920. (Secret).
Commander R.B. Coffey. The Navy War Plans Division. Naval Plans and Planning. 1 1 March 1924. (Confidential).
Navy Department. General Board. Matters Connected with the Pacific. 13 August 1920. (Confidential).
Lieutenant Commander S.F. Bryant. Pacific War Plan Notes. 22 November 1921. (Secret). Office of the Naval Attache, American Legation, Peking. Japanese War Plans. 8 September 1923. (Secret).
Navy Department, Office of Naval Intelligence. The Next Great Naval War: Criticism of Hector Bywater's Book, "The Great Pacific War." 27 August 1925.
Captain J.M. Reeves. A Tactical Study based on The Fundamental Principles of War of the
199
JNP: XSTP:
UNOpP:
UNC:
XSTA:
UNOpP:
XSTP:
XSTP:
XSTP:
UNC:
XSTP: XSTP:
XSTP:
Employment of the Present Blue Fleet in Battle showing Vital Modifications Demanded by Tactics. 25 March 1925. (Secret). Navy Department, Office of Naval Intelligence. Memorandum Regarding Japanese Psychology and Morale. 1 March 1927. (Confidential). Navy Department, Office of Naval Intelligence. The Strategical Situation in the Pacific (Naval Attache Report W-28, 1927). 27 January 1927. (Confidential).
Captain J.W. Greenslade. Joint Estimate of the BLUE-ORANGE Situation. 1928. (Secret) Rear Admiral Harris Laning, President, Naval War College. Building Program, 1932 (War College Suggestion). 19 September 1930. (Confi- dential).
Commander H.H. Frost. BLUE Naval Strategy in the Atlantic. 16 February 1932. (Secret). Captain R.A. Koch. Blue-Orange Study. 31 March 1933. (Secret).
Naval War College, Orange Economic Com- mittee. The Influence of Orange Economic Factors on Blue's Strategy in War. 21 March 1933. (Confidential).
Correspondence between Rear Admiral H.E. Yarnell and Rear Admiral E.C. Kalbfus, Presi- dent, Naval War College; 21 November 1934, to 18 December 1934.
Rear Admiral H.E. Yarnell, and Rear Admiral E.C. Kalbfus. Northern Pacific — Strategy of. November 1934. (Confidential). Rear Admiral W.H. Standley, President, Naval War College. Building Program on Expiration of Washington and London Treaties. 1 April 1935. (Confidential)
Ensign August Smiley. A History of the Campaign. 7 April 1936.
Commander R.R.M. Emmet. Comment on Plan of Operations submitted by Advanced Class of 1935-1936. 15 August 1938. (Confidential). Admiral H.E. Yarnell, Commander in Chief, Asiatic Fleet. Situation in the Pacific. 26 November 1938. (Confidential).
200 JR:
Captain Edward Howe Watson. Some Notes, Comparisons, Observations, and Conclusions made in Japan, China, and the Far East after an absence of 15 years. April 1939.
Joint Efforts of Army and Navy War Colleges:
JNOpP: Correspondence between Lieutenant
Colonel W.W. Wotherspoon, President, Army War College, and Rear Admiral J.W.P. Merrell, President, Naval War College, 23 February 1907, and 21 April 1907.
JNOpP: Army War College, Joint Army-Navy Com-
mittee. Memorandum Prepared for the President of Army War College by Joint Committee. Consider- ation of Special Situation. 18 February 1907.
JNOpP: Army War College, Joint Army-Navy Committee.
Problem Involving War Between Orange and Blue. Course of 1907-1908.
JNOpP: Lieutenant Commander W.D. MacDougall. Study
of Orange-Blue Situation of 1906-1907. 5 April 1907. (Confidential).
JNOpP: Commander J.H. Oliver. Military Policy in the
Pacific. 20 April 1907. (Confidential).
JNOpP: Army War College, Joint Army-Navy Committee.
Preliminary Papers in Army War College Joint Committee's Work. 25 January 1907 to 14 February 1907. (Confidential).
UNOpP: Army War College, Memorandum for the
Director, G-4 Division. Estimate of maximum Blue forces which can be transported to and maintained in Western Pacific and Asiatic Mainland. 21 December 1925. (Secret).
UNOpP: Army War College, Course at the Army War
College, 1923-1924. The Logistic Plan of the Orange War Plan. Committee No. 5. Naval Supply. 27 February 1924. (Secret).
Part I. Introduction, and Discussion of Basic Strategic Plan, Orange.
Part II. Discussion of the Basic Logistic Plan, Orange.
201 Record Group 12: Student Problems and Solutions
Naval War College. Solution of Problem of 1902. Strategy and
Military Operations. Summer 1902. (Con- fidential). 3 Appendixes.
Naval War College. Conference of 1906. Solution of Problem.
Summer 1906. (Restricted). Three Parts.
Naval War College. Problem of 1908. Informal Memorandum
Relating to Questions of Fleet Supply. September 1908.
After 1918: See Appendix III.
Record Group 13: Student Theses
Captain C.C. Bloch, "Thesis: The Present Foreign Policies of the
United States," 26 April 1930. Captain Aubrey W. Fitch, "Thesis: Present Trends in the
Foreign Policies of the United States as Affecting the Monroe
Doctrine," 18 April 1938. Captain R.I. Ghormley, "Thesis: Present Trends in the Foreign
Policy of the United States in Regard to Europe and the Near
East," 18 April 1938. Captain J. W. Greenslade, "Thesis: Policy," 5 December 1925. Captain T.C. Hart, "Thesis on Policy," 1 September 1922. Captain T.C. Hart, "Thesis: Tactics," 28 April 1923. Captain A.J. Hepburn, "Thesis: The Inter-Relation in War of
National Policy, Strategy, Tactics and Command," 15 May
1931. Lieutenant J. L. Holloway, Jr. "Thesis Number One: Destroyer
Operations at the Battle of Jutland," 30 October 1930. Commander R.E. Ingersoll, "Thesis on Policy," 4 December
1926. Captain E.C. Kalbfus, "Thesis on Policy," 4 December 1926. Commander H.E. Kimmel, "Thesis on Policy," 5 December
1925. Captain E.J. King, "Thesis: The Influence of the National Policy
on the Strategy of a War," 1933. Captain Harris Laning, "Thesis: Tactics," 22 April 1922. Commander C.W. Nimitz, "Thesis: Policy," 1 September 1922. Lieutenant W.D. Puleston, "Thesis: BLUE Strategy in the
Pacific," July 1914. Captain J. M. Reeves, "Thesis: Tactics," 1 May 1924. Captain J. M. Reeves, "Thesis: Policy," 4 September 1924.
202
Captain J. O. Richardson, "Thesis: The Relationship in War of Naval Strategy, Tactics, and Command," 7 May 1934.
Commander R.A. Spruance, "Thesis on Policy," 4 December 1926.
Captain C.P. Snyder, "Thesis on Policy," 6 December 1924.
Commander H.R. Stark, "Thesis Tactics," 28 April 1923.
Commander Ellis Mark Zacharias, "Thesis: The Relationship Between National Policy and Strategy in War in the Sino- Japanese War, and the Russo-Japanese War," 1 February 1934.
Record Groups 14 and 15: Faculty and Staff Presenta- tions, and Guest Lectures
Professor John H. Latani, The Relation of the United States and
]apan. Lecture — summer conference, Naval War College,
1913. Lieutenant Commander L.A. Cotton , Far Eastern Conditions
from Naval Point of View. Lecture delivered at Naval War
College, 26 February 1915. Captain H.E. Yarnell, Strategy of the Pacific. Lecture delivered
before Army General Staff College, 8 September 1919. Commander H.H. Frost. Strategy of the Atlantic. Lecture
delivered before the General Staff College, 9 September 1919. Professor J.O. Dealey, National Policies in the Pacific. A lecture
delivered before the officers of the U.S. Atlantic Fleet, at the
Naval War College, 10 September 1921. Captain R.R. Belknap, The Blue-Orange Situation. Lecture
delivered for Fleet- War College Sessions, 1 November 1921. Captain J. A. Furer, Drydocking and Major Repairs in a
Campaign in the Western Pacific. Lecture delivered for Fleet- War College Sessions, 21 November 1921. Captain W.S. Pye, War Plans. Lecture delivered at the Naval
War College, 7 January 1926. Captain D. W. Knox, National Strategy. Lecture delivered at the
Naval War College, 7 October 1932.
Record Group 27: General Subjects
The Estimate of the Situation, Revised and Printed for the Use of Officers in Attendance at the Naval War College. Master Copy. Naval War College. May 1921.
The Estimate of the Situation, Plans and Orders, Prepared at the Naval War College. Naval War College. 1929.
203
Sound Military Decision, Including the Estimate of the Situa- tion, the Elements of Planning, and the Formulation of Directives. Naval War College. 22 June 1940.
Manuscript Collection
This list contains personal papers of United States Navy officers. This collection complements the holdings of the Naval Historical Foundation at the Library of Congress. Ms. Coll. 12: Raymond Ames Spruance. Papers, 1942-1968. 7
boxes, 5 vols. Ms. Coll. 13: William McCarty Little. Papers, 1880-1915. 3
boxes, 3 vols. Ms. Coll. 17: Alfred Thayer Mahan. Papers, 1880-1908. 14
vols., 15 folders. Ms. Coll. 24: William Veazie Pratt. Papers, 1903-1963. 18
boxes, 22 vols.
Ms. Coll. 28 Ms. Coll. 30 Ms. Doc. 15
Richard W. Bates. Papers, 1932-1972. 19 boxes.
Richard G. Colbert. Papers, 1932-1973. 21 boxes.
Harris Laning. Unpublished autobiography "An
Admiral's Yarn," 1 vol. Ms. Doc. 24: Charles M. Remey. Unpublished "Reminiscences,
George C Remey, Rear Admiral, USN," 1920. 2
vols. Ms. Doc. 43: Charles L. Melson. "Reminiscences of Vice
Admiral Charles L. Melson," 1974, 413pp.
II. THE NAVAL HISTORICAL FOUNDATION, LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, MANUSCRIPT DIVI- SION
Baldridge, Harry Alexander, 1880-1952 (100). Belknap, George Eugene, 1832-1903 (1400). Belknap, Reginald Rowan, 1871-1959 (7100). Bingham, Donald Cameron, 1882-1946 (100). Bloch, Claude Charles, 1878-1967 (1400). Chambers, Washington Irving, 1856-1934 (12000). Cotton, Charles Stanhope, 1843-1909 (600). Cushing, Leonard R, 1901-1962 (3600). Dahlgren, John Adolphus, 1809-1870 (700). Farragut, David Glasgow, 1801-1870 (400). Fullam, William Freeland, 1855-1926 (3850).
204
Furer, Julius Augustus, 1880-1963 (2800). Gleaves, Albert, 1858-1937 (6000). Halsey, William Frederick, 1882-1959 (22000). Home, Frederick Joseph, 1880-1959 (1000). Jones, Hilary Rollard, 1863-1938 (2400). Kimmel, Husband Edward, 1882-1968 (200). King, Ernest Joseph, 1878-1956 (10000); these papers contain complete material for King's two courses of study at NWC Knox, Dudley Wright, 1877-1960 (6500). Lockwood, Charles Andrews, 1890-1967 (7600). Luce, Stephen Bleecker, 1827-1917 (8000). Merrill, Aaron Stanton, 1890-1961 (600). Porter, David Dixon, 1813, 1891 (600). Richardson, Holden Chester, 1878-1960 (3600). Rodgers Family, 1788-1944 (15500). Sargent, Nathan, 1849-1907 (2700). Sellers, David Foote, 1874-1949 (6500). Shafroth, John Franklin, 1887-1967 (1800). Sims, William Sowden, 1858-1936 (43000). Standley, William Harrison, 1872-1963 (2500). Symington, Powers, 1872-1963 (2500). Taylor, Henry Clay, 1845-1904 (300). Taylor, Montgomery Meigs, 1869-1952 (1200). Wainwright Family, 1842-1941 (18). Wilkinson, Theodore Stark, 1888-1946 (200).
*Dupont, Samuel Francis. *Fiske, Bradley Allen. *Yarnell, Harry Ervin.
•Collections not part of Naval Historical Division
205
III. UNITED STATES NAVY OPERATIONAL ARCHIVES, NAVAL HISTORY DIVISION,
WASHINGTON NAVY YARD.
General Board. Letter Books, 1900-1911. General Board. Proceedings, 1900-1916. General Board. Subject File Records:
420-2. Building Programs and Overall Policy, 1914-1945. 420-6. Battleships, Design and Employment, 1900-1937. Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, War Plans Division. Navy Basic War Plan— Red. 1930. WPL-22, Volume I. WPL-23, Volume II. WPL-24, Volume III. Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, War Plans Division. Navy Basic Plan — Orange. March 1929. WPL-13, Volume! WPL-14, Volume II. WPL-15, Volume III. WPL-16, Volume IV. The Joint Board, Joint Planning Committee. Joint Army and Navy Basic Plan for the Capture and Occupation of the Azores, GRAY—WPL-47,].B. No. 325 (Serial 694), 28 May 1941. The Joint Board, Joint Planning Committee. Joint Army and Navy Basic Plan for the Occupation of Iceland by a Permanent Garrison of the United States Army, INDIGO, J. B. No. 325 (Serial 697).
IV. PUBLISHED WORKS
This list contains many of the autobiographies, biographies, memoirs, and journals that I have consulted, as well as those relatively few histories dealing with the Navy of the interwar period. In my investigation of the Navy ethos, all of these have been of use.
Abbazia, Patrick. Mr. Roosevelt's Navy: The Private War of the
U.S. Atlantic Fleet, 1939-1942. Annapolis: Naval Institute
Press, 1975. Albion, Robert Greenlaugh, and Connery, Robert Howe.
Forrestal and the Navy. New York: Columbia University
Press, 1962.
206
Arnold, Henry H. Global Mission. New York: Harper, 1949. Arpee, Edward. From Frigates to Flat-Tops: The Story of the
Life and Achievements of Rear Admiral William Adger
Moffet, U.S.N. Lake Forest, 111.: privately printed, 1953. Bailey, Thomas A. "Dewey and the Germans at Manila Bay,"
American Historical Review, October 1939, pp. 59-81. Ballantine, Duncan S. U.S. Naval Logistics in the Second World
War, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947. Beard, Charles A. The Navy: Defense or Portent? New York:
Harper and Brothers, 1932. Bishop, Joseph. Charles Bonaparte, His Life and Public Services.
New York: Scribner, 1922. Borg, Dorthy, and Shumpei, Okamoto, eds. Pearl Harbor as
History: Japanese- American Relations, 1931-1941. New
York: Columbia University, 1973. Braisted, William R. The United States Navy in the Pacific,
1897-1909. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1958. The United States Navy in the Pacific, 1909-1922.
Austin: University of Texas Press, 1971.
"The United States Navy's Dilemma in the Pacific,
1906-1909," Pacific Historical Review, August 1957, pp. 235-244.
"The Philippine Naval Base Problem," Mississippi
Valley Historical Review, June 1954, pp. 21-40. Brownlow, Donald Grey. The Accused: The Ordeal of Rear
Admiral Husband Edward Kimmel, U.S.N. New York:
Vantage Press, 1968. Buckley, Thomas A. The United States and the Washington
Conference, 1921-1922. Knoxville: University of Kentucky
Press, 1970. Buell, Thomas B. The Quiet Warrior: A Biography of Admiral
Raymond A. Spruance. Boston: Little, Brown, 1974. Bywater, Hector C. The Great Pacific War: A History of the
American-Japanese Campaign of 1931-1933. Boston:
Houghton Mifflin, 1925. Navies and Nations: A Review of Naval Develop- ments Since the Great War. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1927. Sea Power in the Pacific: A Study of the American-
Japanese Naval Problems. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1934. Carter, Worrall R. and Duvall, Elmer E. Ships, Salvage and Sinews of War: The Story of Fleet Logistics Afloat in Atlantic and Mediterranean Waters During World War II. Washing- ton: Navy Department, 1954.
207
Challener, Richard D. Admirals, Generals, and foreign Policy,
1898-1914. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973. Clark, Joseph J. with Reynolds, Clark G. Carrier Admiral. New
York: David McKay, 1967. Clinard, Outten Jones. Japan's lnf hence on American Naval
Power, 1897-1917. Berkeley: University of California Press,
1947. Coontz, Robert E. From the Mississippi to the Sea. Philadelphia:
Dorrance, 1930. Cronan, Robert E. The Cabinet Diaries of Josephus Daniels,
1913-1921. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1963. Cummings, Damon E. Admiral Richard Wainwright and the
U.S. Fleet. Washington: U.S. Govt. Print. Off., 1962. Davis, Forrest. The Atlantic System: The Story of Anglo- American Control of the Seas. New York: Reynal and
Hitchcock, 1941. Davis, George T. A Navy Second to None: The Development of
Modern American Naval Policy. New York: Harcourt, Brace,
1940. Dingman, Roger. Power in the Pacific: The Origins of Naval
Arms Limitation, 1914-1922. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1976. Dyer, George Carroll. The Amphibious Came to Conquer: The
Story of Admiral Richmond Kelly Turner. Washington: U.S.
Govt. Print. Off., 1972. Evans, Holden A. One Man's Fight for a Better Navy. New
York: Dodd, Mead, 1940. Fiske, Bradley A. From Midshipman to Rear Admiral. New
York: Century, 1919. The Navy as a Fighting Machine. New York:
Scribner, 1916. Frank, Benis M. Halsey. New York: Ballantine Books, 1974. Frost, Holloway H. The Battle of Jutland. Annapolis: Naval
Institute Press, 1936. Fry, Michael G. Illusions of Security: North Atlantic Diplomacy,
1918-1922. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1972. "The North Atlantic Triangle and the Abrogation
of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance." Journal of Modern History,
March 1967, pp. 353-362. Furer, Julius Agustus. Administration of the Navy Department
in World War II. Washington: U.S. Govt. Print. Off., 1959.
208
Gleaves, Albert. The Life of an American Sailor: Rear Admiral
William Hemsley Emory, United States Navy. New York:
Doran, 1923. Halsey, William F., and Bryan J. III. Admiral Halsey's Story.
New York: Whittlesey House, 1947. Herwig, Holger H. The Politics of Frustration: The United
States in German Naval Planning, 1889-1943. Boston: Little,
Brown, 1976. Herwig, Holger H., and Trask, David F. "Naval Operations
Plans Between Germany and the United States of America,
1898-1913: A Study of Strategical Planning in the Age of
Imperialism." Militareschichliche Mitteilungen, v. II, 1970,
pp. 5-32. Hoyt, Edwin P. How They Won the War in the Pacific: Nimitz
and His Admirals. New York: Weybright and Talley, 1970. Ichihashi, Yamato. The Washington Conference and After.
Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1928. Ishimaru, Tota. japan Must Fight Britain. New York: Telegraph
Press, 1936. Jones, Ken, and Kelley, Hubert Jr. Admiral Ar lei gh (31 Knot)
Burke, The Story of a Fighting Sailor. Philadelphia: Chilton,
1962. Karsten, Peter. The Naval Aristocracy: The Golden Age of
Annapolis and the Emergence of Modern American Navalism.
New York: Free Press, 1972. Kimmel, Husband E. Admiral Kimmel's Story. Chicago: Henry
Regnery, 1955. King, Ernest J., and Whitehill, Walter Muir. Fleet Admiral
King: A Naval Record. New York: Norton, 1952. Kittredge, Tracy B. Naval Lessons of the Great War. Garden
City, N.Y.: Doubleday, Page, 1921. Knox, Dudley W. The Eclipse of American Sea Power. New
York: Army and Navy Journal, 1922. - A History of the United States Navy. New York:
Putnam, 1948. Leahy, William D. / Was There. New York: Whittlesey House,
1950. Leutze, James R. Bargaining for Supremacy: Anglo-American
Naval Collaboration, 1937-1941. Chapel Hill: University of
North Carolina Press, 1977. Livermore, Seward W. "The American Navy as a Factor in
World Politics, 1903-1913." American Historical Review, July
1958, pp. 863-879.
209
Livermore, Seward W. "American Strategic Diplomacy in the South Pacific." Pacific Historical Review, March 1943, pp. 42-49.
"Battleship Diplomacy in South America."
Journal of Modern History, March 1944, pp. 31-48.
"Theodore Roosevelt, the American Navy, and the
Venezuelan Crisis of 1902-1903." American Historical
Review, April 1946, pp. 452-471. Lockwood, Charles A., and Adamson, Hans Christian. Tragedy
at Honda. Philadelphia: Chilton, I960. Long, John D. The New American Navy. New York: Outlook,
1903. Lundstrom, John B. The First South Pacific Campaign: Pacific
Fleet Strategy, December 1941 -June 1942. Annapolis: Naval
Institute Press, 1976. Mahan, Alfred Thayer. From Sail to Steam: Recollections of a
Naval Life. Boston: Harper and Brothers, 1907. The Interest of America in Sea Power, Present and
Future. Boston: Little, Brown, 1897.
- The Lessons of the War with Spain. Boston: Little,
Brown, 1899.
N aval Administration and Warfare. Boston: Little,
Brown, 1908.
Naval Strategy, Compared and Contrasted with the
Principles and Practice of Military Operations on Land. Boston: Little, Brown, 1911.
Matloff, Maurice, and Snell, Edwin M. Strategic Planning for Coalition Warfare, 1941-1942 in subseries The War Depart- ment, Office of the Chief of Military History, Department of the Army series The United States Army in World War II. Washington: U.S. Govt. Print. Off., 1953.
Mayo, Claude Banks. Your Navy. Los Angeles: Parker and Baird, 1939.
Melhorn, Charles M. Two-Block Fox: The Rise of the Aircraft Carrier, 1911-1929. Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1974.
Mills, Walter, ed. The Forrestal Diaries. New York: Viking Press, 1951.
Morison, Elting E. Admiral Sims and the Modern American Navy. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1942.
Morison, Samuel Eliot. History of United States Naval Opera- tions in World War II. Boston: Little, Brown, 1947-1962. 15 vols.
210
O'Connor, Raymond G. Perilous Equilibrium: The U.S. and the
London Naval Conference of 1930. Lawrence: The University
of Kansas Press, 1962. O'Gara, Gordon Carpenter. Theodore Roosevelt and the Rise of
the Modern Navy. Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1943. Palmer, Wayne Francis. Men and Ships of Steel. New York:
Morrow, 1935. Pelz, Stephen E. Race to Pearl Harbor: The Failure of the Second
London Naval Conference and the Onset of World War II.
Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1974. Pomeroy, Earl S. Pacific Outpost: American Strategy in Guam
and Micronesia. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1951. Potter, E.B. Nimitz. Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1976. The United States and World Sea Power. Engle-
wood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1955. Puleston, W.D. The Armed Forces of the Pacific. New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1941. Mahan: The Life and Work of Captain Alfred
Thayer Mahan. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1939. Rappaport, Armin. The Navy League of the United States.
Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1962. Reynolds, Clark G. Command of the Sea. New York: Morrow,
1974.
, The Fast Carriers. New York: McGraw-Hill,
1968. Richardson, James O., and Dyer, George C. On the Treadmill to
Pearl Harbor: The Memoirs of Admiral James O. Richardson,
U.S.N. Washington: Navy History Division, 1973. Schroeder, Seaton. A Half Century of Naval Service. New York:
Appleton, 1922. Seager, Robert II. Alfred Thayer Mahan: The Man and His
Letters. Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1977. Seager, Robert II, and Maguire, Doris D., eds. Letters and Papers
of Alfred Thayer Mahan. Annapolis: Naval Institute Press,
1975. three volumes. Sherman, Frederick C. Combat Command: The American
Aircraft Carriers in the Pacific War. New York: Dutton, 1950. Sims, W.S., and Hendrick J.B. The Victory at Sea. Garden City,
N.Y.: Doubleday, 1920. Spector, Ronald. Admiral of the New Empire: The Life and
Career of George Dewey. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State
University Press, 1974.
211
Standley, William H., and Ageton, Arthur A. Admiral Ambas- sador to Russia. Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1955. Stirling, Yates. Sea Duty. New York: Putnam, 1939. Taussig, Joseph K., and Cope, Harley F. Our Navy — A Fighting
Team. New York: Whittlesey House, 1943. Taylor, Theodore. The Magnificent Mitscher. New York:
Norton, 1954. Tillman, Seth P. Anglo-American Relations at the Paris Peace
Conference of 1919. Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1961. Trask, David F. Captains and Cabinets: Anglo-American Naval
Relations, 1917-1918. Columbia: University of Missouri
Press, 1972. U.S. Bureau of Navigation, Navy Department. Information
Pamphlets for Officers Ordered to the Asiatic Stations.
Washington: U.S. Govt. Print. Off., 1930. U.S. Navy Department. Navy Directory of Ships and Stations.
Washington: U.S. Govt. Print. Off., 1921. Watson, Mark S. Chief of Staff : Prewar Plans and Preparations,
in subseries The War Department, Office of the Chief of
Military History, Department of the Army series The United
States Army in World War II. Washington: U.S. Govt. Print.
Off., 1950. Wheeler, Gerald E. Admiral William Veazie Pratt, U.S. Navy, A
Sailor's Life. Washington: U.S. Govt. Print. Off., 1974. Prelude to Pearl Harbor: The United States Navy
and the Far East, 1921-1931. Columbia: University of Missouri
Press, 1963. Wiley, Henry A. An Admiral from Texas. Garden City, N.Y.:
Doubleday, Doran, 1934.
212
INDEX
Adams, Charles Francis 32 Allen, Rear Admiral Burrell C. 26 Annapolis
Rites of Passage 15
role in corporate acculturation 16
B
Dealey, Professor John Q. 68, 127 Demonstrative exercises 134 Doctrine
Role in Operational Ethos 89-90, 141,
158 Evolution of, from Knox to Kalbfus 85-91 Dow, Rear Admiral Leonard James 62, 157
Babcock, Captain J. V. 28
Baxter, Professor J. P. 68
Beard, Professor Charles 31
Belknap, Admiral Reginald R. 93, 94, 97
Benson, Admiral William S., center of Navy
Anglophobia 46 Bloch, Admiral C.C 26, 84 Board maneuvers 135
Ellicott, Lieutenant J. M. 115 Elliott, Professor William Y. 68 Ethos
American frontiers and ethos 8-14
Corporate iii, iv, 1 et seq.
Institutional 3, 29
Operational 89-90, 141, 160
The Capital Ship
at Newport, place of the capital ship concept within the naval war game 140 critical instrument in planned transpacific
offensive 143-144, 153-156 defender of the "Monroe Doctrine" 36, 99 dominance of the battleship in the engage- ment 139 dominance of the engagement in tactical
thought 147 et seq. emotional image of the battleship as "Shield
of the Republic" 152 growing awareness of the potential of the
aircraft carrier 136-137, 145 role of the battleship in U.S. naval strategy 108 Carpenter, Rear Admiral Arthur S. 26 Chart maneuvers 134
Clausewitz, role in War College thinking: Operational Ethos 76, 77, 78-79, 141, 147 Cooper, James Fenimore 13 Cotton, Lieutenant Commander L.A. 124-126,
127 Cultural personality 5 corporate 6 individual 5 national society 5, 7
Fiske, Rear Admiral Bradley 85, 91, 119, 143
Foote, Rear Admiral Percy W. 26
Frost, Commander Holloway 103, 105-106,
150 Furer, Rear Admiral Julius Augustus 17, 36, 53,
119 Furlong, Rear Admiral W.R. 26
Game histories and scenario development for the Pacific War 141, 143 et seq. 157-158 Ghormley, Admiral R.L. 81 Gleaves, Admiral Alfred 18, 25, 34, 35, 43, 44 Goodrich, Captain Caspar S. 114 Goodrich, Professor L.M. 68 Great Britain
as ally and future friend/fraternal rival 46
as declining empire according to Darwinist images 106, 110-112
as role-model 101-102, 104
as role to be inherited, future national mission 112
as traditional antagonist 98 et seq., 104 Greenslade, Admiral J. W. 79
H
Daniels, Josephus 119
Halsey, Admiral William S. 93, 157-158 Hamilton, Alexander 10, 30
213
importance of Federalist Papers 31
"Navalist" School 100-102
role in Monroe Doctrine 31
traditional Atlantic Strategy, Navy mission 34, 121 Hart, Admiral Thomas C. 26 Hepburn, Admiral AJ. 78, 81
Jahncke, Ernest Lee 32
Japan, image of future enemy and future war 98, 113 et seq. Japan and Social Darwinism 40-41, 82-84 place of Japan in naval historicism as
inevitable enemy 129 racism toward Japanese culture 82, 83, 122-
130 role of Newport in creating hostile mask 40-41, 68-69, 73, 82-84, 114, 122-130 Jefferson, Thomas
"Anti-Navalist" School as symbolic father
100-101 role in "Continentalist" School 30 Jellicoe, Admiral John 150 Jutland
impact of battle on naval thinking 70, 111 role in Newport war gaming 148-151 U.S. Navy attitudes toward British perfor- mance 103, 111-112
Morison, Samuel Eliot 157 Mythologies of American persona, Navy and American myths 8, 9
N
The Naval Battle
game search for a pattern for an American Trafalgar 149-151
negative image of Jutland 105-106, 149-150
role-model of the "Decisive Engagement" 118, 141
Trafalgar, Tsushima 148 Naval War College
approach to history 58-59
approach to Navy mission 76
bibliography 71 et seq.
curriculum focus 65
educational role within Navy 63 et seq.
lectures 67 et seq.
role of student thesis in indoctrination/ acculturation of mission 75-85 Nimitz, Admiral C.W. 77-78, 80, 83, 92, 128
O
Oikoumene, nation in embracing cultural
system 158 Oliver, Commander J. H. 118 Operations problems 134, 135
Kalbfus, Admiral E.C. 52, 84, 90 Kidd, Admiral Isaac 160, 161 Kimmel, Admiral Husband 79, 83, 128 King, Admiral Ernest J. 24, 80, 93, 110 Knight, Rear Admiral Austin M. 39, 60, 64, 86,
87 Knox, Captain Dudley W. 32, 33, 34, 36, 39, 43,
47 et seq., 59, 61, 85, 93, 110, 119
Laning, Admiral Harris 93, 147 Lee, Admiral Willis 93, 132, 158 London Planning Section
role in promoting Darwinian world view 39, 40-41 Luce, Rear Admiral Stephen Bleecker 57, 121, 133, 140, 141, 159
M
Mahan, Rear Admiral Alfred Thayer 13, 16,
20,37,38, 101, 115, 117, 119 McNamee, Admiral Luke 93 Melville, Herman 22 Merk, Professor Frederick iv, 37 Mission v, 4, 29, 55 et seq. Mitchell, Brigadier General, William 70
Philotema
Greek concept of honor, self-esteem,
identity 141 its place in the formation of a distinct
operational ethos within the Navy 158-
161 Pratt, Admiral William Veazie 45, 93, 95, 97,
119 Pringle, Admiral J.R. Poinsett 55, 93 Puleston, Captain W.D. 41, 128-129, 153-154 Pye, Rear Admiral W.S. 74
Quick-decision problems 134 R
Reeves, Admiral Joseph 92, 107-108
Remey, Rear Admiral George 115
Richardson, Admiral J.0. 23, 75, 80, 84, 91, 93, 111
Rodgers, Rear Admiral Raymond P. 118
Rogers, Admiral W.L. 45, 48, 93, 119
Roosevelt, Franklin Delano
role in Navy mission definition in interwar period, creation of historical precedent during Barbary Wars and Quasi- War 33
214
Roosevelt, Theodore
role as "Founding Father" of modern Navy 35,114
Schofield, Admiral F.H. 46, 94, 119
Search problems 134
Sims, Admiral William Sowden 19, 27, 58, 67,
92,93,94, 106, 119, 133, 141 Snyder, Admiral C.P. 26, 81, 82 Social Darwinism
role in early 20th century Navy world view
37 et seq., 75, 80, 81, 104 Spruance, Admiral Raymond A. 79 Standley, Admiral William H. 33, 35, 36, 93,
111 Stark, Admiral Harold R. 26, 150 Stockdale, Vice Admiral James 159-160 Swanson, Claude 32
W
War games
origin at Newport, role of McCarty Little in
131-132 role of the war game in indoctrination of
operational ethos 141-142, 160-161 structure of game play, Maneuver Rules 133
et seq. texture of game play 137-140
War plans
continuities of focus on potential enemies
99-104 enemy fleets, color-coding of 97 RED, ORANGE, BLACK, etc. Appendix I role of War College in formulation 98 role of War College in preparation 60
Watson, Captain Edward Howe 126
Whitman, Walt 11, 19,50
Wilde, Oscar 14
Wilson, Professor George Grafton 69
World View iii, 1, 3 et seq.
Tactical problems 134 Taussig, Admiral Joseph 21, 93 Taylor, Admiral Montgomery Meigs 21
Yarnell, Admiral Harry E. 23, 24, 93, 122-123
Vision 4
Zacharias, Rear Admiral Ellis Mark 93, 128